


Finding Home

by TSValing



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alfor is alive and gradually adopts the grown white haired men abused by Zarkon and Haggar, Business AU, Childhood Friends, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Friends to Enemies, Human AU, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, London AU, Mutual Pining, Shiro (Voltron) Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Slow Burn, briefly, other pairings teased but not official, zethrid/ezor only other specific pairing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-13
Updated: 2019-03-08
Packaged: 2019-07-11 23:15:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 74,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15982553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TSValing/pseuds/TSValing
Summary: They knew each other as children, were inseparable for the short time they were together, but they were torn apart when their fathers fell out. Now, after over twenty-years of separation, they have a chance to reunite and build something new.





	1. An Introduction and A Return

Allura did not sleep a wink the night before. She was too nervous, too excited, too full of eager anticipation.

Truthfully, it was the abject terror that kept her awake.

It was a day that had been months in the making, her chance to take control of the Voltron Foundation now that her family had successfully wrested the last fragments of it from Zarkon's hold. The NGO partnership between Altea Industries and Galra Corp was now exclusively an Altea non-profit venture, the reins of which sat in her hands.

She had to rebuild it, nearly from scratch, but that only heightened her excitement. The terror, too. The fear of failure would push her to succeed, she just wished that it would ease long enough for a full night's rest.

A fruit smoothie and a half hour on the treadmill got her energized, followed by a pot of fragrant coffee to keep her coherent as she showered, dressed, and prepared for work. She drank two cups while reviewing her new employees' files. Shiro swore that the team he put together would be successful, but she could not ignore the lead weight in her gut as she looked over their history. She reasoned that the lead weight could be the coffee filling an otherwise empty stomach, not the young, inexperienced team she would have to put her faith in.

She had a terrible feeling that this venture was going to give her a heart attack before she turned thirty. It was no wonder her father chose semi-retirement in the countryside after the last lawsuit was won. She had not even gotten the company up and running, and she already longed to be in Cambridgeshire with her parents. As much as she enjoyed her life in London, she sometimes missed the slower pace of the country and the days where she could run around the estate gardens, pretending she was a heroic princess, an elf dancing through the forests, an explorer searching for lost worlds and times, or, sometimes, even an astronaut fighting aliens.

Simpler times without the threat of migraines.

She still held on to the courage of those younger days. The monsters and curses were imaginary back then, but now they took very real shapes, albeit in the form of war and poverty and pollution. Whatever shape her adversary, she would take on the task of defeating it.

Her armor for battle was no longer ill-fitting relics or cardboard boxes. Black trousers, a simple black camisole, and a fitted white jacket with bright pink trim to match her pink suede ankle boots were better suited for a boardroom. She tied her long white hair into a bun, her fringe bangs held back by a gold headband with a little blue crystal. The headband might not perfectly coordinate, but it was her favorite one and she needed whatever luck or confidence it might provide.

The drive from Belgravia to Walworth was slowed by traffic and rain-slick roads, as well as a quick pop in to a coffee shop for a cappuccino with two extra shots of espresso she sorely needed. It only left her more frazzled for her meeting. She could not be late. She may be the boss, but it would make for a terrible first impression if she kept her new staff waiting.

When she pulled up to the industrial building her father purchased for the new Voltron headquarters, the guard on duty, Klaizap, rushed to open the gate and waved her in. She hurried around the building and pulled into her parking space beside Coran's car, a few steps from the rear entrance where Coran waited with an umbrella in hand.

"I am so sorry for my tardiness," she called to him as she climbed out of her car.

"No need to apologize, Princess," Coran said once he was beside her, umbrella held out to shield her from the steady morning drizzle. "Shiro's been keeping them preoccupied. I thought about giving them a tour, but I felt you'd want to be here for that."

"Yes, I would. Thank you, Coran." She sighed in relief once they were inside, ducking the scaffolding from the last stages of the remodel.

The outside of the building appeared like any other brick and glass factory in the district, but inside it had been turned into a state-of-the-art office space and research facility. White walls decorated with blue crystal encased lights that made the place look clean and fresh with a simple, calming aura. The offices were separated by light blue glass, giving them an open, airy feeling while providing each of her employees privacy to do their work. The laboratory was all white and grey metal, function being more important than aesthetics for the team members that would utilize the space. It was fitted with the latest Altea tech, some of which had not yet been released to the public.

"Oh, and I'm assuming that has been the extent of your breakfast this morning, young lady." Coran pointed at her coffee cup. She pouted at the mothering lecture in his tone, but he waved dismissively at it. "I brought pastries and bagels for the meeting. And…" He glanced around, then leaned in to whisper, "Those strawberry and blueberry tarts you love so much. Don't worry, I hid a couple away in your office just in case our new employees devoured them while waiting."

"You are the best, Coran," she said, linking her arm with his as she beamed at him. "I don't know what I would do without you."

"Starve to death, most like," he teased. "You cannot survive on caffeine alone, Princess."

"I don't," she huffed.

"Or take-out. Or energy bars."

"I…" she stammered for a defense. "I had a fruit smoothie this morning."

"Okay, then you cannot survive on a diet consisting of fruit goo and high energy brown water." He gave her hand a consoling pat. "I know you are under a lot of pressure with this venture, Princess. You have been balancing your duties with Altea Industries while preparing for the Foundation's relaunch, but that is when you must do more to take care of yourself."

"You've spoken to my father recently, haven't you?"

"He called last night after he finished speaking with you. He's just worried that you're pushing yourself too hard."

"Well, now that we are here, I will hopefully be able to focus exclusively on the Foundation and have more time, less stress…" Shouting from the meeting room broke into her reassurances. She traded a confused look with Coran, and then rushed down the hall to see what the commotion was all about.

"I'm just saying, Keith, I would totally be Han Solo," one man claimed as he leaned back in his chair, feet propped up on the table. A sly grin curled up the corner of his lips. "You're just jealous that I was the coolest one in our class at the Academy."

She recognized him as Lance McClain, a young man who had a shaky start at Garrison Academy, but who showed promise as a pilot and leader. Friendly, sociable, a good heart though she could not quite see it with the arrogance conveyed in his smile. At twenty-six, he had long graduated from the Academy and entered into the Air Force, following in the footsteps of one his heroes – Takashi Shirogane, the very man who recommended him for the job. He had since retired from military life, the job offer with Voltron the primary reason for his turn into private sector work.

"This is the stupidest argument we've ever had," the man across from him said with a roll of his eyes and a scowl that only seemed to deepen when he looked at the other man. He swept a hand over his face, pushed messy black bangs back into his mullet. "As a pilot, you aren't even a Lando."

Keith Kogane. A Texan who lost his father when he was a boy and bounced from orphanages and foster homes until Shiro got him into the Garrison. He didn't last long there, but Shiro continued to mentor him and secured him private lessons in piloting. He went on to work for government contractors and mercenary organizations. At twenty-eight, he had made a name for himself as an expert pilot in the private-sector, suited for high-risk missions. He was a high-risk employee, though. Short-tempered, blunt, and impulsive – he did not work well in a team environment, but Shiro had faith in him, and she trusted Shiro's judgement.

"What!?" Lance hollered. His feet fell to the floor as he leaned forward to slam his hand onto the table. "Now I know you're just pulling things out of your ass. But alright, I'll humor you. You won't admit that I have Han's skills and his charm." He dropped his voice low and flashed a lopsided grin at the others sitting around the table with him. "Then tell me, o-wise-one, who would I be?"

Allura didn't think Keith's scowl could get any deeper, but she watched as his brows pinched together with a thoughtful glare. "The pilot that runs straight into a cruiser in the first five minutes of every Star Wars movie ever made."

Lance shot to his feet. "That is just…" He pointed and stammered in his anger. "I wasn't the one kicked out of the Academy in the first week," he shouted.

That got Keith out of his chair, leaning over the table with a snarl. He didn't get a chance to make a retort as Shiro leaped up beside him, placed a calming hand on his shoulder and held the other out to quell Lance's simmering temper.

"Woah, woah, you two. This is not the time or place for this," Shiro said, tone firm with command. "So, let's just sit down and eat while we wait…"

Allura spun around to face Coran, the terror returning to wreak havoc on her gut. "We are doomed, Coran. Doomed."

"Now, now, Princess," Coran hushed as he wrapped an arm around her shoulder and led her away from the room. "Shiro personally vouched for everyone in there. You trust his judgement."

"I did," she said, barely able to keep her voice down as it cracked. "But… but…" She couldn't find the words in her panic and settled on waving her arms at the meeting room. "I cannot have this fail because of two men who cannot keep their egos in check."

"I am sure there is a perfectly logical explanation," he said, smoothing out the end of his thick ginger mustache.

"They were arguing about Star Wars characters, Coran."

"Well… yes, but also no. I believe they were arguing about what sort of pilot they are, and considering they are pilots, I imagine this is a very normal topic of conversation for them."

"Anakin! ANAKIN!" came from the boardroom. "Of course, you would say you're Anakin!"

"Lance, calm down," the only woman inside said, sounding utterly exhausted with the argument.

Katie Holt, also known as Pidge, was a prodigy in computer science and robotics. She started out as a hacker, but eventually followed her father and brother into the Academy, further honing her skills and knowledge. By twenty-five, she had completely restructured the United States military's whole network to protect it from hacks – except for her own, had completed two doctorates and was working on a master's in mechanical engineering for fun. She had been a simple choice when Shiro showed her the file, made even simpler when her father said that she had sat in on a seminar he presented at MIT once and had impressed him with her knowledge. She had only been sixteen at the time. Allura would have given her anything to sign her onto the Foundation, but Pidge was willing to work for them just because Shiro was the one to request it.

"I mean, I can see it," said the last remaining man in the room, finally speaking up.

Hunk Garrett, the twenty-seven year old was at the top of his class in mechanics at the Academy. He transferred to Stanford to complete his degree in mechanical engineering before returning to the military, focusing on the engineering corps and disaster relief. He volunteered every week at a soup kitchen as a chef, visited schools in low-income neighborhoods once a month to tutor the children in science and mathematics, and helped his family with numerous charity drives for their community. He came from a loving family that spread their love out to anyone who needed it. Shiro said Hunk was a man who would give the shirt off his back if there was someone who needed it more. He was the easiest choice for the Foundation out of all the candidates. She could provide him with the resources to make large scale change.

"Oh, yeah, sure. The unstable, over-emotional hot-head… I can see it, too. So, does that mean you're going to go all dark side on us, Keith?" Lance asked.

A loud groan came in answer.

"At least you didn't say you were Luke."

"Of course, I wouldn't be a Luke. Shiro's a Luke."

There was silence for a long moment, and then a quiet hum. "Huh, well, I can't disagree with you there. Shiro is definitely a Luke."

"Thank you, Keith. Lance," Shiro answered with genuine pride. "Now, are we done arguing?"

"I still don't know about Lance as Han," Pidge spoke up.

"What? He's the coolest! He even gets the princess! I am absolutely a Han."

"Ehhh, was he that cool?" Hunk asked. "I mean, sure, he acted all cool, but he kind of just… got by on luck. Maybe a little help from the force, but… ehhhh. I'm surprised he didn't die in the first movie. Or the second movie. Or the third. Don't know how he lived long enough to have a kid... and for the kid to kill him."

"He was pretty hopeless most of the time," Pidge added with a chuckle. "Total dweeb. But I guess that was part of his charm."

"Yeah, he had skills as a pilot, but he said a lot of dumb things while trying to sound all cool and suave. And he and Luke couldn't even rescue Leia properly. She did most of the work," said Hunk

"Hmm, I take it back. Lance would make an okay Han," said Pidge. "He says plenty of dumb stuff."

There was a loud guffaw. "Oh, like when he tried to hit on Jenny… No, Jamie… No… Jill? It started with a 'J'. What was her name again, Lance?"

"Hunk. Shut up."

"Coran," Allura said. "Doomed."

"Princess, give them a chance. They aren't arguing anymore, so let's go in and get them focused on business. I'm sure once they are put to work, they'll be model employees," Coran tried to reassure.

"But seriously, Keith? Anakin? Anakin? You really do think highly of yourself."

"Doomed, Coran. We are doomed."

* * *

 

The meeting room settled for five seconds when she entered.

And then Lance tried to flirt with her, the absolute  _last_  thing she desired to experience.  _Ever._

Coran took immediate offense for her, while she ignored them all in favor of an apple danish and slice of coffee cake. They both looked delicious, but her stomach flipped in contempt after all the coffee she drank. Coran might have had a point about squeezing in a proper breakfast. She could at least manage a simple bowl of porridge, or perhaps yogurt and granola.

"Lance," Shiro said as Coran's incomprehensible huffing and insults began to subside. "This is Allura Altea.  _Your boss_."

Lance's mouth gaped in surprise and his gaze swung around to watch her quietly sit down at the head of the table. The other three broke out into boisterous laughter.

"He hit on our boss," Pidge squeaked through laughter, slapping Hunk's shoulder beside her. "I think that's something Han would do."

"Completely embarrass himself in front of a powerful woman his first day on the job? Yeah, that is a Han thing," Hunk agreed.

"Right, now that  _that_  argument is settled," Allura broke in, silencing their laughter with her sharp tone.

"You overheard?" Shiro whispered from her left.

"I did." She smiled kindly at him. "And thank you for stopping those two before they came to blows."

"I probably should have warned you that this group can be…  _a handful?_ "

"A warning might have been appreciated, yes." She forced herself to ignore her misgivings and the voice still screaming  _Doom!_  in the back of her mind. She was a business woman, the leader of an NGO that once was internationally renowned for its charity work. She had to remain poised and positive.  _Pretend this is tea with the queen,_  she told herself.

Allura straightened in her seat and carefully picked off a bite of her danish. "Right, onto business. I am sure you all are as excited as I am to get started and learn of your roles here at Voltron. To start, as Shiro said, I am Allura Altea, daughter of Alfor Altea, president and owner of Altea Industries, as well as our Foundation's sole financial patron. I know you are all familiar with him from your education and work at the Garrison Academy. He and I have the utmost respect for the school and the students they produce."

"Then why the hell is Keith here? He got kicked out," Lance said, thrusting a thumb at the man sitting across the table from him.

Allura forced a smile that made her cheeks ache. "Yes, we'll discuss all of your qualifications in a minute." She gestured to Coran, who stood at her right. "This is Coran Hieronymus Wimbleton Smythe. He has been number two at Altea Industries for longer than I've been alive, and we are fortunate to have him here now as my Chief of Operations. If there is anything you need for your work, he will be the man to see."

Lance raised his hand. "Yeah, does that include requesting a company car? Shiro has that black one. When do we get cool Range Rovers, too?"

Allura slumped forward with a long sigh. She would allow Coran to field that.

"Executives within Altea Industries receive company cars. New hires have their transportation costs subsidized. We'll get you all dedicated debit cards to use for travel expenses – the tube, buses, trains. You will not have to worry about travel expenses at all."

"Yeah, but… Shiro isn't an executive. Is he?" Lance cocked his head to the side.

"I gave him a promotion upon transferring his employment from Altea to Voltron," Allura explained. "Within the Foundation, he is the second Chief of Operations. Where Coran is responsible for tech, supplies, finances, and so on; Shiro is responsible for managing the staff." She gestured to the group before her. "He recommended all of you for your positions, and I trust that you all respect him well enough to follow his leadership. He is the one who will coordinate your projects, the one you all will answer to, besides myself, and the one you will share your grievances with. And I believe after the last few years, he has more than earned a new car and comfortable salary."

Shiro chuckled. "I would have been happy with just the fancy arm." He raised his right arm to show off the latest Altea tech she and her father designed for him. He grinned as he flexed the sleek white and silver fingers of the prosthetic. "But I'm grateful for the rest, too."

Three years earlier, Shiro's plane had been shot down on a routine supply mission for a joint U.S. – British operation. He had subsequently been found and captured by a despot beholden to Zarkon and spent over a year in an illegal prison facility, treated like a lab rat until he escaped and stumbled across an ally's encampment. He was brought to England for treatment, where her father took responsibility for his care, gave him a new prosthetic to replace the one Zarkon's people put together, and offered him a job overseeing Altea's security while he went through treatment for his PTSD.

Shiro had been presumed dead. He returned broken and sick, but alive, heralded as a hero for saving the two scientists that had been onboard his plane. He hated retiring from the Air Force, no matter the decoration that came with it, but even with all of Altea's technology, he still had a long way to go in recovering from his trauma. The stress on his body during his captivity had even begun to turn his hair white. By the final surgery to fit his new arm, there wasn't a trace of black hair left on his head. Offering him a job and proper care was the least her father felt he could do for the man.

"Okay, I can't argue that, Shiro earned all of it," Lance relented. For a moment, the feigned arrogance of his expression vanished into sincere appreciation and gratefulness. These people had looked up to Shiro, were friends to him once. They were happy to see him alive and thriving as well as he could after his experience. "But… Coran, what color's your car?"

Allura fell over with another groan, echoed by the others around him, save for Keith and Coran.

"Lance! Don't be a dick," Keith shouted. "This job isn't about a dumb car."

"I'm only curious," Lance yelled back. "Shiro's is awesome. Did you get a custom interior, too?"

"Oh, well, I did, actually," Coran answered, unperturbed by the off-subject line of inquiry. "Alfor designed it personally for me." He puffed his chest out and preened at the fact his best mate spoiled him. "White and chrome body, interior is all white leather, blue stitching. You should see the interface. Highest tech he could create for it. Ah, though I think Shiro and Allura have the same in theirs." He rubbed his chin in thought, then brushed it off as inconsequential. The whole conversation was inconsequential, but it seemed they were never recovering from it. "But, if you'd like, I'll take you out for a spin in mine later. She's a  _beaut._ "

"Will you let me drive?" Lance asked, sounding so much like a child with a new toy in front of him.

"Mm, no, but maybe we'll squeeze in some lessons another time. With a less expensive vehicle. I'd rather not unleash an unpracticed American on London's streets just yet. Certainly not in  _my_  car." Coran frowned when his answered made Lance visibly deflate. "Ah, but I'll take you all for a pint at lunch. My treat."

Lance grumbled in disappointment. A swift strike from the woman beside him got a half-hearted, "Sure, a pint sounds great," in response.

"Alright, can we get this meeting back on track?" Allura asked in the lull of conversation.

"Wait, one more question," Lance spoke up.

Allura sagged in her chair. "What is it?" She already regretted asking him that.

"What color is your car?"

"Lance!" all the Americans shouted.

Allura buried her head under her arms while Coran once more answered even though it was pointless to.

"Oh, hers is a gorgeous pearlescent blue. On a sunny day, when the light hits it just right, you can see a bit of pink and silver in the sky blue. So faint, you'd hardly notice it any other time. It's a stunning car. Cost Alfor a pretty penny, but only the best for his darling daughter." Coran puffed up again. "I helped design it with him, too. It's our finest work. Allura's the envy of the high society girls."

"Oh! I have another question!" Lance said, raising his hand high with a gleam in his eye. "When do we get to meet these high society girls?"

"Lance!" everyone shouted loud enough that she was certain all of Britain heard.

The Americans broke out into another chaotic and far too loud argument. Allura sunk down in her chair and rubbed at her temples. She was going to have a permanent headache if the meeting continued to derail any further.

"I think we may need a gavel to keep these meetings in order," she muttered to Coran.

"Don't be silly, Princess. You'd just shatter the table if we gave you one of those," he teased back.

"Wait! Did he just call you Princess?" Lance asked with a short guffaw. "Aw, that's cute."

"It's a nickname, Lance," Shiro responded, tone flat and unwilling to humor Lance on this. "Everyone at Altea calls her Princess."

"I'm not mocking her. I genuinely think it's cute," Lance argued before turning to her with the same aggravating smirk he gave her when she first walked in. He slicked back his short brown hair and wagged his eyebrows at her. "And since we've established I'm the Han here, I guess that makes  _you_  the princess."

She glared. "Right, I think now is a good time to discuss our zero-tolerance policy on sexual harassment."

Lance's smirk vanished, and he snapped straight in his chair. "Sorry. Sorry. I'm done now." He looked truly apologetic, his cheeks pink with embarrassment. He may as well be an impulsive teenager, but she would give him one shot to turn around that behavior.

"This will be your one and only warning, Lance," she said. He nodded vigorously in response. "Then can we  _please_  get this meeting back on topic?" Everyone nodded. "Good. Then, Coran, the dossiers, please."

As Coran handed out each individual file, Allura gestured for everyone to take more of the breakfast spread before them. Keith and Lance nearly destroyed the peace once more as they a fought over a cream cheese danish, but the meeting was saved when Pidge stole it while the men snarled at each other. Allura met the woman's twinkling, mischievous gaze as she took a large bite out of the pastry. She grinned shamelessly when the men groaned at the loss. Allura decided then that she very much liked the girl and couldn't be more grateful to have her there.

"Each of you will be responsible for your own division, with its own projects, but you all will collaborate and integrate your projects where you need to," she explained. "This is where Shiro's position is of vital importance. The Black division is tasked with overseeing each of the departments and coordinating all collaboration efforts. He will take your ideas, find the ideal method to implement them as a whole unit, and then lead the effort on the ground while the rest of you support him however you can.

"Hunk, you will be in charge of the Yellow division, which will focus on engineering projects that can be used to improve infrastructure around the world. But, most importantly, these projects will be aimed to rebuild and restructure areas crippled by warfare and extreme poverty. You'll be responsible with helping people return to a normal life through some of the most basic necessities. Outdated or destroyed water and sewage systems, transportation that utilizes the newest clean energy tech, updated roads to connect rural and urban areas, and so on. Your engineering background is vital to these projects, and your heart is critical in seeing that these efforts succeed in good faith. Your division is literally strengthening the foundation of a better, freer world for all."

"Cool," Hunk said as he flipped through his dossier. A simple response, but he appeared excited with his responsibilities.

"Pidge," Allura continued. "Your Green division is responsible for communications – improving internet, data, phone service. Governments and corporations can easily undermine the lives of civilians by hampering their means of communication and access to independent news and information, I want you to find a way to keep all people connected – to each other and to those that seek to control their lives. And, just as you did for the military, I want you to restructure security systems to hopefully hamper any malicious hacking efforts. And because this is related to modern infrastructure, you will likely be working closely with Hunk."

"Sweet," Pidge chirped. Hunk held his hand up to her for a quick high-five and the two shared a grin. They already had good rapport, they would make an amazing team.

"Lance…" Allura sighed as she watched Lance scrutinize his own dossier. "Your Blue division is more people oriented. As vital as communication and infrastructure systems are, what is most crucial for a person's well-being is knowing that there are others they can reach out to for help or friendship in times of need. You will be responsible for social-outreach programs."

"But… I'm a pilot. What do you a need a pilot for? Wouldn't a social worker or community organizer be better for this? Hunk would be a better fit, too. He has experience with those sorts of things," Lance pointed out.

"Yes, that may be the more obvious route, and I do encourage you to work with both Hunk and Pidge on your projects. Both for their individual experience, as well as the resources their divisions can provide." She smiled and gentled her tone at the doubt in his eyes. "But, the way Shiro described you assures me that you are a good fit for this role. He said you were kind and friendly, a person who can be relied on and trusted when it counted most, the type willing to risk, or even sacrifice, your own life to save another. Also, you are a talented pilot, and I do have use of those skills with my own venture."

"Your venture?"

"Yes, it was originally part of the Blue program when my father first began the foundation with his college mates. A medical program that sought to build and maintain independent, free and low-cost hospitals around the world. I've taken it on as my personal project, part of the new White Lion division whose sole task is medical and pharmaceutical research," she explained.

"Oh… Wow." Lance stared at her, eyes wide in awe. He shook away the amazement and glowered at her again. "I still don't follow where my piloting would be important."

"Flight-For-Life, Lance," she said, snickering when his wide-eyed, gaping expression returned. "Some of these hospitals will be treating people in remote areas. I want a pilot who is knowledgeable and experienced to help plan out ideal locations to provide the quickest, easiest flight patterns to save those that might not otherwise be reached. I also hope that you, alongside Shiro, can help train a new class of pilots for these hospitals, locals that might not otherwise be able to afford such opportunities. Your military backgrounds will be of importance in that regard, too. If any of these rescues are in high risk, violent regions, the pilots will need the knowledge and discipline you both gained through your training."

"Huh, that sounds pretty cool," Lance said, a glint of excitement appearing as he grinned at Shiro. "You really think it's a good fit for me?"

Shiro laughed. "I wouldn't have recommended you if I didn't, Lance. You have plenty of potential."

"I think you'll be able to do something great with this," Allura added. Lance leaned back in his chair at her compliment, the picture of arrogance and pride as he grinned. She rolled her eyes and moved on. "And lastly, Keith." She turned to the glowering man beside Shiro. He sat slumped and unhappy, almost making her fear that he would not remain with them for long. Shiro had warned her that he could be a handful, temperamental, but at his core he was a good person. He just needed a chance to prove it. "Your division will have the most independence of them all, but your role is vital to this foundation's success." Keith's brow rose but he showed no other signs of interest. She pushed on. "I need someone who is not afraid of taking risks and following his gut, someone creative, someone who may look at the world and our projects from a different perspective. You were expelled from the Academy, but you did not give up on your pilot training. You sought private training in both combat and piloting, you did it on your own…"

"I had Shiro's support," Keith interrupted.

Allura smiled reassuringly. "Yes, but you did not give up. You took a  _unique_  route, but you reentered the military as an informant after connecting with an independent, and technically  _illegal_ , mercenary group. While  _The Blades_  may be looked down upon by most governments, we cannot deny their effectiveness in undermining a number of unethical, unjust, and  _truly_  illegal operations funded by a  _certain_ corporation and under the protection of violent political regimes. All without shedding innocent civilian blood. It may subvert international guidelines and laws, but it has given more people a chance at regaining peace and freedom on their own, without massive military intervention by other countries. This organization will seek to give them the resources they need to do so successfully."

"And what exactly are my responsibilities here, besides telling you when your projects won't work?" Keith asked.

"Besides being a creative influence, I also need someone capable of gathering information on the regions I intend to aid. Many of them have been stuck in perpetual warfare, others are impoverished because of corrupt government officials. I need to know the ins and outs of these countries and people, without raising too many alarms among those that may not appreciate an NGO taking care of their people. It is complicated, sensitive work, but you are already familiar with many of these places, have contacts within that can help guide us. So, where you aided The Blades in dismantling regimes, I need your aid in repairing the damage those regimes did to their people."

Keith hummed as he stared intently at his dossier. She caught him flash a quick glance toward Shiro, who gave him a gentle smile and thumbs up. With that, he nodded and tossed the dossier aside. "Alright, I'm in."

She straightened and gave an excited clap. "Splendid. Then, let's all have a tour of the facilities and get to work." As she stood with the others, she looked over to Coran and whispered, "I forgot to ask earlier, do you have the report on the Puig Facility in Marrakesh ready?"

"Yes, everything is set for the bid. Puig's owner informed us that their contract to Galra is expired and there have been no attempts to renegotiate. Altea's legal team ironed out all the details of the offer. We should be able to sweep it out of Zarkon's hold without any retaliation from him," Coran assured.

"I will look over the file myself after I see everyone settled in to work, and then we can send our official proposal this afternoon. We cannot waste a second of the time we have. Zarkon has been quiet of late, but he will not remain so for long. We have to strike now."

"Of course, Princess. I'll have the file on your desk when you're done. Anything else you need?"

"Keith, do you ever smile?" she heard Lance ask out in the hall.

"Not when you're around," Keith answered.

"I could use an aspirin," she whispered to Coran.

"Wow, you really never grew out of the edgy asshole phase," Lance said with false wonder.

"Or a bottle of gin," she amended. "A large one."

Coran shook his head and gave her shoulder a consoling pat. "I'll see what I can rustle up for you, Princess."

* * *

 

Lotor glowered at the drizzling rain from the door of his jet. Called back to headquarters and greeted by such abysmal weather rather than the one who requested his return should not surprise him, yet still he was disappointed. He should know better after twenty-eight years of the same pattern.

He tied his long white hair back, flipped the hood of his dark blue hoodie up, shouldered his rucksack, and began his miserable descent. He was home, but for how long this time?

"How was your winter in Siberia, Mr. Daibazaal?" his assistant asked from the bottom of the stairs where she waited with an open umbrella.

"Cold," he answered with wry humor.

Acxa's lips quirked to give away her amusement. She did not laugh. In all the years he had known her, he was certain he had never heard her laugh. Or truly smile. Perhaps a soft one in a rare moment of pride, but it never lasted. Curious that she even showed a hint of humor to his jest. He had only been gone a few months, surely, she had not changed so much.

She had let her dark blue hair grow out while he was gone. Just a bit to be noticeable. The tidy bob she typically wore was looser, softer, and brushed past her chin. Her face appeared older, calmer.

Had he failed to notice that his father had left him to rot in the northern tundra for more than a single winter? It certainly felt as though years had passed.

"Perhaps I should have picked up something warmer," she suggested once he was at the bottom of the stairs, ducking beneath her umbrella. That barely-there smile returned as she held up a large strawberry frap.

He snatched the drink from her hand and immediately took a sip. He would have shut his eyes and moaned at the sweet, fruity taste if not for present company. He had sorely missed the simple pleasantries of life while in the arctic.

"Extra espresso?" he asked as they began to walk to the dark blue Audi Q7 waiting a few paces away.

"The barista gave me an odd look, but I watched her put all eight shots in," she answered, her tone still far too jovial to be anything but odd.

He stopped and scrutinized her. "You are… cheerful today. Why?"

She cleared her throat and schooled her expression, but a glimmer of excitement peaked through her stoic façade. Anyone else would not notice it. "I have good news."

"Do tell," he urged.

"The reason for your summons…" That smile twitched at her cheek again. "Your father is in hospital. Heart attack."

His eyes widen, brows shot up. "Ooooh, that is good news."

He shifted his ruck to pull out his phone. He would actually have reception again. The oil rig he was stationed on still operated on dial-up and couriers on snowmobiles. He attempted to bring it into the modern era, but his father denied the funds. Lotor knew it was entirely out of spite, and to keep him disconnected from the rest of the world.

"Fifth one. There are talks of a transplant this time," Acxa explained as he looked through all the recent news on his father and his company.

"Well, the stints obviously did not do anything useful," Lotor muttered, slowly approaching the SUV again. Though, it is likely all the blow he does to keep up with his deranged wife, he thought to himself.

"Boss," his driver Zethrid greeted as she held the car's rear door open for him. He glanced up from the article he was reading to return the greeting with a curt nod. The large, muscular woman wore a pink painted grin that stood out in sharp contrast to her dark complexion, but perfectly matched the streaks of pink in her purple hair. He cocked a brow at her eager expression. "How many times did you nearly die this time?"

Lotor snorted as he slid into the backseat. "Lucky thirteen," he answered. "Nearly impaled six times, had a brush with a wrench dropped from twenty feet above my head, one fool pulled a knife on me – he didn't even deny that it was on my father's orders." He hummed in thought. "Three fires, they locked me out of my quarters for a night, surely hoping I would die of exposure if not eaten by a bear, and just last week I was pushed into a frozen lake. For once I was grateful for global warming. The ice was thin enough to break through."

"And how many people died as a result of these attempts?" Zethrid asked as she and Acxa climbed into the front seats.

"Seven. I'm sure my father believes them to be collateral damage. Most died in the fires, anyway."

"The one who pulled a knife on you?"

"I will see that Throk enjoys the next ten years of his work contract at a refinery regularly targeted by terrorists."

"And the one who pushed you into the lake?"

"The idiot fell through while trying to get away. Never did find the body."

He hummed as he scanned the article on his father's latest failure. His holdings were becoming as weak as his body. He had finally lost all his rights to Voltron Foundation, incurred massive cost in yet another frivolous lawsuit because of it. Zarkon had banished him to Siberia because he had argued against the suit, informed his father that it was a waste of money and that he would be wiser to just let it go. But no, the bastard was as spiteful and petty as ever. He had the resources to sink Alfor with one lawsuit after another. Lotor knew that was his primary goal – destroy Altea Industries by bleeding Alfor's coffers dry. It had appeared to work at first. Voltron had to suspend all activities while battling the last three suits, but Galra's standing had weakened enough that accounts were being lost, contracts voided. Lotor would have a lot of work to salvage what he could. He should just let Galra die already, but the company still had its uses, barring he could be around to take advantage of them.

"Ezor is starting another pool," Zethrid commented as she pulled off the tarmac and aimed for the gates into the city. "I'm betting your next banishment will be to Venezuela."

"No, my father needs their oil too much to risk me fucking that up," Lotor commented. "The last thing he needs is to have social unrest quelled when it makes it so much easier to drain a country of its most valuable resources."

"Well, I still think it'll be South America," Zethrid said.

"The Amazon?" Acxa chimed in.

"Hmm, my father has always wished to decimate the rain forest, but it is not so high on his to-do list that he would care if I interfered," Lotor mused. "Enough deadly creatures there to see to my accidental demise. He might enjoy imagining a boa constrictor devouring me whole."

"I'm betting on that, then," Zethrid said.

Acxa's phone chimed with a message. She read it and held it over her shoulder for him to see it was from Narti. Acxa had been relaying the conversation to his other assistants in their absence.

"Ahh, she may be on to something there. There is something poetic about dropping me in the middle of the Outback with no supplies after failing to see me freeze to death in the arctic. Extreme heat, even deadlier creatures. Tell her to make that bet, and I will match her winnings."

"Yes, sir."

"Where are Ezor and Narti this afternoon?"

"Narti is overseeing the maid service at your flat. Ezor is waiting at Galra, trying to hear any whispers from your mother's office."

Lotor's gaze snapped up to glare at the back of Acxa's head. "That creature is not my mother."

Acxa flinched. "Yes, sorry, sir."

A tense silence fell over the car. Lotor ignored it as he browsed through the latest news. He was curious of Altea's current standings, but he did not have insider knowledge of their holdings. As best he could glean, Alfor had not suffered too greatly. His company was back on the up and up in the market and he continued his service in the House of Lords, but it appeared he was falling back in his responsibilities to Altea, choosing to work from his home outside of Cambridge rather than staying in the city.

An ache formed in his chest as he thought of that home. How long had it been since he had seen that estate? Twenty years? It had been too long, but the memories seemed as sharp and clear as if they were from the day before.

"Did you get into any fights in Siberia?" Zethrid asked suddenly, breaking into wistful memories and making him catch the smile that threatened to appear.

He cleared his throat and set his phone aside. "Only one."

"Bloke with the knife?"

Lotor chuckled as he took a sip of his drink. "Yes. I attempted to avoid it…"

"Booooo," Zethrid chided.

"You will be happy to know that he made the unwise choice of insulting my mother's ethnicity." Lotor's grin felt sharp and feral as he recalled the bitter, verbal jabs the moron lobbed at him. He was used to people calling him a half-breed, perhaps the kindest of slurs he had to endure from even his own father. But, while he loathed the woman she became, the memory of Honerva was sacrosanct in his mind. He would not abide hearing anyone disparage her ethnicity, telling him that he was weak for having her for a mother. They could insult him all they wished, they could tell him to go back to India, an especially heinous insult when his mother's family was from Bangladesh and ignored the fact he was born and raised in London while his mother was Manchester to her core. The woman who had once been a brilliant scientist, beloved by his father when they were both clean, and a dear friend to Alfor and Meleanor Altea – she was off limits. "I punched him in the gut hard enough to make him vomit blood and bile. Took barely any effort but silenced his vile mouth once and for all."

"That's why you're the best, Boss," Zethrid said.

He hummed and turned to stare out at the bleak, grey London skyline before him. He had not missed it, but a part of him had longed to be home, to be out of the desolate wastelands and slums his father sent him to. Perhaps they were a step up from the boarding schools and military academies he had to suffer throughout his formative years. At least he could pretend to be free while surviving those bloody banishments. But he had been sent away for so much of his life, could he really call London home? It was mostly a base of operations, an area he knew well enough to move comfortably in, but there was no warmth in the city for him.

He never dreamed of this place while he was away. Longed for it, yes. There was always a desperate tug in his chest every time he thought of England, an incessant need to return, to remain, to say that he was home. But when he closed his eyes for the briefest of respites, it was never the city he dreamed of, never the people.

A field of flowers. Moonlight hair. Childhood laughter. A princess he swore he would never forget, no matter how damaged his cursed life left him.

That was the closest feeling to home he ever had. That was the world he longed for. A fantasy of the past. A peaceful dream.

"Sir," Acxa called from the front.

He jolted from his unexpected nap, snapped his eyes open to see his assistant's phone held over her shoulder to him. He hummed, wiped the sleep from his eyes, and took her phone.

"What is this?" he asked as he skimmed through the messages between Acxa, Narti, and Ezor. He glowered at a picture Acxa sent of him sleeping, and the cooing response Ezor sent.

'Aww. Even the son of a blood-thirsty tyrant needs his sleep,' she wrote.

He rolled his eyes and focused on the rest of the conversation.

"Ezor overheard your m- Excuse me, the witch, speaking about Alfor," Acxa explained just as he found the texts she had wanted him to read again.

"Voltron Foundation…" He breathed out as he read the message and reread it to make sure he had not missed a thing. "Alfor gave it…" He felt breathless as he stared at one word, one name. "Allura," he whispered.

He fell back in his seat as shock and elation washed over him. His short laugh earned quizzical looks from the girls in the front, but he ignored them as his gaze returned to the heart of the city they drove through.

She was there. She was somewhere in that city. For the first time in over twenty years, they were in London at the same time, and she held the reins of the only venture that stood a chance at undermining his father's work.

Well, perhaps not the only venture, but the one who would garner the most attention. That suited him perfectly.

He laughed again.

"Acxa," he said, his tone firm with command as he handed her phone back. "Begin to look to for properties. We must capitalize on every second of time we have while I am home."

Home. He had a reason to call it home now. He had a reason to stay. He could not allow this opportunity to flounder.

"See that Narti gets the paperwork in order, I want to sign it by tomorrow. My father and the witch cannot suspect anything, cannot have a single reason to turn on me until we have secured all we need. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," Acxa and Zethrid said in unison.

Excitement welled in his chest. Eager anticipation. He curled his fingers in, pricked his palms with nails just a tad too long, and bit the inside of his cheek to restrain the urge to celebrate this chance.

"There is much work to be done."


	2. Memory Lane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Visits from parents are not always easy, for very different reasons. But a chance meeting makes it all worthwhile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluff. So much fluff.

He had been back in London for less than a week, and already he looked forward to his next banishment.

Galra Corp was a mess, as he knew it would be. His father's people worked in a competitive environment, and with their leader in a hospital bed, there was no structure, no guidance to see that their bickering and infighting worked toward a grander purpose. Then again, his father's grander purpose had long ago been lost to his own pettiness and need to destroy his  _enemies_ , even at a cost to himself. But without him there, the people who worked beneath him clawed for a stake in the company, sought to prove themselves as a better replacement than the son Zarkon despised.

"Fires of Purification?" Lotor groaned as he looked over the email Acxa forwarded to him.

"Yes, sir," she said from the chair she occupied in his office's receiving area. "Sendak has sent this idea of his to every department supervisor and developer."

"He wants to go into war-torn countries and stir up even more violence and insurrection in order to  _bolster_  weapons sales… Well, my father obviously did a splendid job grooming him to be his successor. He is as much a diabolical villain aspiring to be a dictator as Zarkon." He was almost tempted to anonymously send the email to the UN securities commission, but he did not need Galra subjected to major war-crime investigations while he was in charge. And he knew for a fact Zarkon had at least a third of them in his pocket, so it would be futile to undermine the company that way. He slumped over his desk and rubbed his temple. "Draft a missive condemning this barbaric practice. It lacks creativity and is quite  _illegal,_ not to mention immoral. We have been fortunate thus far avoiding investigation, but as we have seen on the other side of the Atlantic, it is only a matter of time before someone gets too greedy and draws attention to that which we prefer to hide. We need to focus on  _stabilizing_  these countries. Focus on our private security division, offering it to whoever we desire to be the winning side, and helping them reclaim their country. From there, we reap the rewards given freely by a glad ally who will not stand in the way of my father's mining and extraction operations."

He fell back in his chair with a sigh. "It is as though these people do not understand how to create and control puppet administrations. They live in a country with a long history of colonialism, and yet they do not care to  _study_  it. Unfettered chaos cannot be sustained in the long-term. Now is a time for a stable solution."

"They won't like that," Zethrid offered where she stretched out over the couch near his office door. She had made herself comfortable there as soon as Acxa shut the door. She split her attention between the meeting and the woman perched on the back of the couch. He had spent most of the meeting actively ignoring Zethrid as she tickled Ezor's ankle or played with the woman's long blonde hair as it dangled down from her high ponytail. Their flirting rarely interfered with work, so he allowed it in the privacy of his office. Once the door opened to anyone else, though, they knew well enough to cease their activities.

He flicked his fingers to dismiss Zethrid's comment. He already knew that it would not be well-received. That did not concern him. He was the executive in charge, they were to follow his orders. When his father returned, they could do as they like while he was sent to rot somewhere else.

Though, he had no plans to rot anywhere this time. He would go where he pleased.

"Now, what of this Puig contract I hear we are on the cusp of losing?" he asked.

Narti flipped through the stack of files on her lap where she silently sat opposite him at the desk. When she found the contract, she held it over to him while Acxa explained. "It is a small factory in Marrakesh that your father contracted to fabricate filaments for radio comms. They assemble one part of hundreds. It is highly specialized work."

"And the reason we have allowed the contract to lapse?" he asked as he scanned the contract details himself. They held an exclusive contract with the factory. It may as well be  _owned_  by Galra, they were not allowed to sell these filaments to any other operation, could not create anything similar for other companies. He was surprised his father didn't just buy it out entirely.

"The company found a cheaper method of production," Acxa explained.

"Of course, they did." He hummed in thought as he flipped to a page detailing the financial status and holdings of Puig and its owner. "He does not have enough capital without Galra funds to keep the factory open. Three-hundred people will be unemployed if he does not find a new contract or financial partner." He stood from his desk to pace near the window, reading the intelligence his assistants gathered on Puig's current fiscal options. "They have other contract options available now…"

"Yes, but Galra backed mercenaries have been known to attack shipments that are not protected by the corporation. Without Galra's protection, they are vulnerable to lose all profit from the contracts."

"So, they need protection, which is why they have hesitated to take these other offers… In favor of a buyout." He chuckled as he scanned the page detailing the buyout offer Puig received. "Altea is the only company with a private security team, which Voltron would of course have full access to. But, what could she need this factory for?"

The reason did not particularly matter. The factory had been under Galra contract, and the Altea family surely wanted to seize any holding they presumed to be weak.

"And why hasn't Puig taken the offer yet?" he mused, frowning at the file.

"They may be waiting for a better offer," Acxa suggested.

Lotor hummed, narrowing his eyes on the file as he ran a finger over his lips. "What would my father do?" he murmured. A question he often asked, if only to do the opposite. Here he needed to keep up appearances as the temporary head of Galra.

"Lotor," a woman called from the door as it opened without even a knock to warn him.

He restrained the urge to growl at the interruption but still sneered at the woman barging in on his meeting. Of course, he could not avoid her forever.

"We are in the middle of something," he said, dropping his tone to be cold and distant. "If you wish to speak with me, make an appointment with my assistant."

"A mother does not need an  _appointment_  to see her son," Honerva snapped back.

Lotor sneered again but nodded his head to signal his assistants leave.

"What do you want, Witch?" he asked once the door shut behind the girls.

"Lotor, must you continue to call me that?"

"Would you prefer  _Hag_?"

"I would prefer you call me  _mother_."

He threw the Puig file on his desk as he let out a short laugh. "Oh, now you desire to play the role of mother. When your coked-up husband is bedridden, leaving you without a proper puppet to maintain control of this corrupt corporation, you look to the son you never wanted for help."

Honerva sighed as she grasped the back of the chair just occupied by Narti. She hunched over, shut her eyes as her long white hair spilled over her shoulders. She looked so old in that moment, far older than she was.

"Spare me your melodrama, Lotor," she said, glancing up at him with that exhausted look he knew was designed to make him pity her. He almost did…  _almost_ , but she had dug her own grave long ago.

Honerva Daibazaal had once been a renowned scientist employed by Altea Industries. She moved to Galra Corporation shortly after meeting Zarkon through the Voltron Foundation, when Altea and Galra still shared their resources. His father had fallen in love with her brilliance and beauty, and she had loved him for the endless support he gave to her research, no matter how absurd others may have thought some of her experiments. Their ambitions and goals matched perfectly. It had the makings of a wonderful marriage. But Honerva's brilliance drove her to push limits, to obsess over her research into literally  _everything_  that sparked her interest. She stretched herself thin, wore down her body, but rather than pull back and rest like any rational person would, she relied on any chemical she could ingest to give her the energy to keep going.

She started with Adderall, moved to harder amphetamines, and then landed on cocaine as her preferred stimulant at three in the morning when her latest bio-engineering project failed to produce the results she sought. His father looked the other way at first, pretended that it was not a problem. From what Lotor gathered, he didn't even try to intervene when they learned she was pregnant. All that mattered was that she continued her research, the defining element of her whole life. And then Zarkon went from ambivalent denial to directly enabling her addiction, swiftly followed by joining her in it.

"I have already heard complaints of how you are managing the company," Honerva said.

"And you are surprised?" He feigned his own shock, earning a glare from the witch. He brushed off her irritation and turned to stare out at the lovely view of the Thames his office had. He clasped his hands behind his back and straightened. "Every time I have been given a modicum of authority in this place, the people grumble and complain. They drink in my father's vitriol and contempt for my methods and spew it back out when he is not here to provide it."

"You will be the company's downfall if you continue to interfere."

 _Good_ , he thought to himself. "Warmongering is not a sustainable business model. Nor is sucking the planet dry of its resources. If anything is to be the downfall of this corporation, it is my father's greed and disregard for the consequences of his actions."

He heard Honerva sigh behind him. "I called you back hoping you had learned your lesson. All I request is that you keep your head down, conform to your father's ways, and maintain the status quo until he returns. Is that really so difficult?"

Lotor snorted, turning to glance at her over his shoulder. " _Impossible_. I will do things  _my_ way. Never his."

"Lotor…"

"I am not my father. The sooner he accepts that, the better." He turned to snatch his navy blue blazer from the back of his chair. "And the sooner you accept that I am not your son, the sooner we can move on from that  _regrettable_  chapter of your life."

"Will you at least attempt to adhere to his dress code?" she said through clenched teeth.

Lotor looked down at his navy blue suit and waistcoat, blue button down shirt, and vibrant orange tie, and then looked over Honerva's black and red dress-suit ensemble. All of his father's underlings followed the strict color pattern he preferred for his workers. It was drab and droll, and he loathed the uniformity. His assistants had no choice but to keep to it while he was away, but now that he had returned, they were free to follow his guidelines while in the building – black, varying shades of blue, and orange if they so desired a brighter color. He even allowed Ezor to streak her hair with whatever colors called to her, Narti was allowed to wear her favorite black hoodie whenever she felt overwhelmed, Zethrid could wear purple or pink or blue lipstick if she desired, and if Acxa was ever inclined to stand out, he would welcome it. They were his employees, after all, even if their pay came from the company coffers.

He did not answer the witch as he grabbed his phone and headed for the door.

"At least cut your hair," Honerva hollered at him. "Your father has been asking you to be more presentable in meetings for years."

He longed to flip her off, tell her to sod off, but he knew better than to acknowledge her nagging. She did not care about his suit or his hair. She did not care about his methods. All that mattered was controlling a pawn, but he was not her pawn and never would be.

"Where are you going?" she snapped as he opened the door and stepped out to see his assistants waiting for him. "You have work to do here."

"I have work that requires my presence elsewhere," he explained. "Apologies, but perhaps we can reschedule for…  _Never_."

"Wait, Lotor," she called just as he began to turn away. The pleading in her tone gave him pause. It sounded so weak, so frail. She almost sounded human. It was enough to make him look back at her, to take in the deep wrinkles cutting down her cheeks, the sunken amber eyes that dimmed as though she mourned for something she lost. "Can we have dinner tonight?"

He heaved a long sigh and wished he had continued to walk away.

"I need to talk to you…" She glanced around him at the women who were far too curious about their conversation not to eavesdrop now that the door was open. "I am attempting to make some changes in my life…"

He barked a harsh laugh. "Ah, yes, I believe I read an article about your stay at some glitzy detox resort. I wish you success on your… what? Fifth attempt?"

"I am serious this time, Lotor," she hissed. "We need to speak."

"Oh? Wait a tick, is this the stage where you make amends with someone you wronged?" His lip curled in distaste. "Then  _no_ , I will not have dinner with you tonight, or any other night,  _Witch_. You can crawl around on your knees, apologizing and begging for my forgiveness until you are blue in the face, but it will only be a waste of your time and my own." He walked out of his office. "Besides, you and I both know this will not last. It never does."

"Lotor," Honerva called after him as he waved for his assistants to follow. "Lotor!"

"Acxa," he whispered as he led the way to the lift. "Ready my jet. I wish to leave for Marrakesh tonight."

"Yes, sir. Do you want a pilot?"

He thought for a moment. "No." He could use the time in the cockpit to clear his head. "Ezor, pack a bag. I will only be gone for a day, so just the essentials."

"Got it, Boss."

He opened a group text to message the four the rest of his orders so that his mother did not overhear.

_'Acxa, do you have properties lined up?'_

_'Four. Two are in Southwark. One in Lambeth. And another in Camden.'_

_'We'll start in Southwark. Send me the addresses and we'll meet there. Narti will come with me. Zethrid, see that we are not followed.'_

_'Any means necessary?'_ Zethrid texted, followed by an emoji with an eager grin.

_'Avoid murder, but yes. By any means.'_

_'Fine. No murder.'_

She was going to assault at least three people. He had an entire account dedicated to her legal defense, but she  _literally_  fought for every second of privacy he had in that hellhole of a company and it was more than worth the cost.

They went their separate ways at the main level. Zethrid followed him merely to crash into anyone else who followed him to the executive garage. She would then follow him in his company car, cutting off anyone she recognized or felt suspicious of until he navigated the London streets well enough to lose any other pursuers. Acxa and Ezor went out the front door, turned in separate directions. Acxa would have her motorcycle parked in another lot, Ezor would take the tube to his flat.

It was a sunny and humid day that weighed him down as he walked to his Aston Martin. Mid-day traffic would not be as horrendous, but the unseasonable heat would make it worse. He slipped off his blazer at his car, tossed it into the backseat, and rolled the sleeves of his shirt up as he got in the driver's seat.

He wanted to sink back and sigh in relief after escaping his mother's persistence. He wanted to allow himself to relax, to breathe, but he had too much to do and could not be at ease just yet. A night in Morocco would garner him a measure of freedom to shake off that conversation, even if he had business to attend to the next day.

A flutter of movement beside him drew his attention to Narti. He had found her in Nigeria, in one of the witch's laboratories. She had been there since she was a girl, undergoing one operation after another to save her eyesight. The surgeries  _had_  been a success, but she had been torn from her family, treated like nothing more than another experiment, isolated from all manner of human affection and care. The trauma rendered her mute. She relied on signing to communicate early on, but now she preferred to text to protect his privacy should any of their conversations contain sensitive information; unless they were alone.

"Do you need me to drive?" she signed to him.

He snorted. She was more perceptive than any would suspect. Only Acxa could read his mood better, and that was only because she had been at his side for a decade – the longest of all his assistants, ever since his father dragged him to Hong Kong on a business trip when on break from university. "I appreciate the offer, but I will be fine." He smiled as he started the car. "I could use a cup of coffee. Shall we make a quick stop before meeting Acxa?"

"Poppyseed muffin," she signed as her request.

"Of course," he agreed. "Lemon square for Acxa?"

Narti nodded once.

He felt free enough to let out another laugh as he pulled from the garage with a squeal of tires on asphalt. An afternoon away from the office was sure to lift his mood.

* * *

 

"Please, Allura," Hunk begged from his knees beside her desk.

"The food in the cafeteria is perfectly adequate, Hunk," she said, sighing at the man's grimace. "What is wrong with it?"

"I mean… I don't want to offend…" He looked away with another grimace. "Coran is in charge of the menu, right?"

"He is. He is a splendid cook." She could not help but defend her friend. She had grown up with his cooking. She was more than fond of it.

"Yeah… see… He isn't." Hunk winced when he met her gaze and she could only guess what her expression gave away. This conversation was a waste of their time. "Okay, hear me out. He isn't  _bad_ , he just… Has he ever heard of spices? Like…  _at all_?"

"Of course, he has heard of spices. His best mate is a British Indian, for heaven's sake. He is well acquainted with  _spices_."

"Then why won't he  _use_  them?" Hunk was growing visibly frustrated as he scooted closer and pleaded for her to understand his point of view.

"I'm with Hunk on this one," Lance chimed in. "The pastries and desserts are great, but we've had the same thing for lunch every day this week."

"I don't know. I think the food's alright," Pidge offered. "Could use some variety, but it's not as bad as the Garrison cafeteria."

All the Americans made the same disgusted expression at the memory of their time at the Academy.

"Pidge, Pidge, Pidge," Lance said as he set a hand on the woman's shoulder with a solemn shake of his head. "So innocent. So naïve. I feel bad for you."

Pidge smacked his hand away and glared. "What does that mean?"

"Next time we go back to the States, you're having dinner at my abuela's. You'll understand then," he offered as an explanation.

"No, that won't be necessary," Hunk said. "If Allura would just give me a  _little_  creative influence over the kitchen, everyone will taste the difference  _tomorrow_."

"Hunk  _is_  an amazing cook," Shiro said.

"Do you people not have  _any_  work to be doing right now?" Allura asked as she stared at the five Americans scattered around her office.

Keith had perched himself on the low cabinet built into the wall beside her desk and mindlessly played with a pewter lion that had been in the place he now occupied. A glass screen hung on the wall behind him, part of her video call interface connected to everyone at Voltron, as well as her father at Altea.

Shiro sat on her desk. Hunk and Pidge had taken the chairs in front of her desk, though the former now knelt beside her as he took to begging for her to allow him this request. And Lance leaned against the back of Pidge's chair.

She had no idea why Hunk's request required all five of them to be there. Moral support, perhaps? Were the Americans banding together against her already? Keith did not even appear to care a whit about the food she provided at no cost to them. He was just there because everyone was there.

"Listen, I love fish and chips as much as the next man," Hunk continued to argue. "But just a little variety is all I ask for. Burritos! Burritos are amazing! They have everything in them that you need! Just…  _please!_  Let me have the kitchen."

Allura turned to Shiro. "I assume you are on  _their_  side in this?"

Shiro shrugged. "I will say, staff morale depends on the outcome of this negotiation."

"Thank you, Shiro," Hunk shouted.

She pinched the bridge of her nose and prayed that this did not turn into a disaster. "Fine."

She sighed at the celebratory shout, and immediately yelped in surprise when she found herself swooped into a tight hug from the large man who had only moments before been on his knees.

"Thank you. Thank you. You are the best," Hunk said as he jostled her side to side. She couldn't even return the hug. Her arms were trapped at her sides in his tight hold. "You won't regret this. I'll make my mom's pork recipe for lunch tomorrow. It's the best on the island. You'll love it."

"Yes. Yes. I look forward to it," she said as he squeezed even tighter. "Just… please release me, Hunk."

"Oh, sorry." He dropped her back to her feet and stepped away with a large, nervous grin. "Got a bit carried away."

"It is fine." She waved off his embarrassment and threw herself back into her seat. "If I had known your meals would be this important to you, I would have asked Coran to sit down with all of you beforehand."

"Well, I expected a lot worse than fish and chips," Lance said. "Don't Aussies eat bugs sometimes? I swear I saw that they eat these… maggots?"

"Oh no," Allura moaned as she slumped over her desk. She could hear him sprinting through the building already. The Americans remained oblivious to the ensuing chaos.

"Witchetty grubs," Pidge corrected Lance. "They're actually supposed to be pretty –"

"Aussie!" Coran interrupted as he crashed through her open door. His usually pale complexion was completely red – either from his run through the building or his anger, she could not be entirely certain. "Aussie!? Did you just call me an Aussie?"

"Well, yeah." Lance blinked in surprise. "You're from Australia, aren't you?"

Shiro pressed his hand to his face and sighed. Allura rubbed her temples. Coran spluttered in offense.

"I. Am. A.  _Kiwi_ ," Coran hollered.

Lance cocked his head to the side, but Keith was the one to ask, "Like the bird? Or the fruit?"

"Americans!" Coran shouted as he stormed over to Allura, blustering the whole way. "I see what you mean, Princess. We are doomed. These heathens don't even know what a  _Kiwi_  is."

"Now, Coran…" She tried to ease his temper with a soft smile. "It is a simple misunderstanding."

"Aussie, Allura!  _Aussie_ ," he shouted. "The sheer audacity of even suggesting it."

She sighed and turned to Lance. "Coran is from New Zealand."

"Ooohhhhh." She watched realization dawn on all but Shiro.

"So? Do they eat bugs in New Zealand, too?" Lance asked.

Coran cleared his throat and calmed. "No, but I've had those grubs before. Alfor bet that I couldn't stomach one." He straightened and pat his belly. "Ate thirty before I thought I'd vomit those little buggers back up. Showed him what's what."

"It is not fair when you have an intestinal worm to help you out, mate," a deep voice retorted from the doorway, the unexpected guest startling everyone in the room.

"Father." Allura cheered, unable to help herself as she skipped across the room to greet him. Finally, someone with some sense.

"Darling," he greeted with a wide grin that his thick white beard could never hide. He shifted to brace a box he held against his hip to return her hug with his free arm. He was not much taller than her and easily leaned down to kiss her cheek. "I hope I am not interrupting."

She pulled away with a sigh. "No, no, our workday derailed long ago."

"Coran's fed us fish and chips all week," Hunk explained.

"They were ready to mutiny if I did not give them control of the kitchen," Allura added. Alfor nodded sagely, his lips pursed in thought as if this were a dire problem.

"What's wrong with my menu?" Coran shouted.

" _Nothing_ , my old friend," Alfor said with a teasing lilt as he went to greet Coran. He patted his friend on the shoulder, then leaned in with a glint in his eye. "But,  _spices_. Salt and pepper do not count."

"I love your dad already," Hunk hollered in an excited rush.

"I hope you conceded," Alfor said, looking to her.

She sagged forward. "Yes, father. Hunk has the kitchen now."

"You won't regret it, Allura," Hunk assured, his promise joined by nods from those who had tried his cooking.

"So, Alfor - Can I call you Alfor? Have you tried those bugs?" Lance asked.

"Why, yes. They have a nutty taste about them. Though…" He grimaced. "They look utterly repulsive. I had to shut my eyes. Honestly, I've eaten far stranger things in my lifetime. Hardly my first shot at eating an insect. In India, there is this tribe that uses red ants in -"

"Father," Allura interrupted before they could discuss all the various ways to cook  _bugs_. She stood straight with a forced smile. "May I ask what brings you to the city today?"

"Oh! Right." He moved to set the box he carried on her desk. "I was called in to Altea suddenly. Mishap in the lab that needed my attention. And your mother has had me occupying my free time of late by cleaning out the attic. We came across some old photos she wanted you to go through, see if there were any you wished to keep."

"Awww, are they baby pictures?" Lance asked as he rushed to the desk. He would have snatched the box, but Shiro and Pidge smacked his hands away. "What? Don't you want to see our boss as a little kid?"

Hunk and Pidge tilted their heads in obvious interest. Even Shiro and Keith sent curious glances at the box.

"No!" Allura commanded as she rushed around to her desk and slammed a hand over the box. "You will not!"

"Oh, come now, dear," Alfor chided. "There's nothing embarrassing in any of them." He paused to scratch his beard and narrowed his eyes on the box. "At least I do not believe there are… I am certain your mother has the ones of you in the bath with Romelle. It should be fine to let them see."

"It is inappropriate," she hissed. "They are my employees."

"Yes, yes." He waved off her excuse. "Though, it seems you have developed a very laid-back work environment. Suppose that is to be expected with such a small staff, all around the same age. You already seem like you're becoming good friends with them. And I adore the business casual attire you have allowed."

He gestured at the others that all dressed in casual slacks and button downs. Pidge and Hunk were the most casual of them all, wearing cargo pants and t-shirts that day, but they  _had_  been hard at work in the laboratory that morning. She realized within a single day that they worked best in regular attire, and, as her father said, it was a small staff. There were no real boardrooms or investors to meet with. She could allow them their comfort in the office, so long as they actually did their work.

Even she had traded in her suit for light blue capris and a loose blouse with a soft pink cropped jacket that day. It was insufferably muggy that morning and she knew it would only grow warmer as the day went on. Their building did not have air-con, so it was imperative she dress for the heat.

"It would not hurt to let your friends see you with your hair down, as it were," Alfor added. "All in good fun." She sent him a withering glare, but he ignored it as he slipped the box out from beneath her hands. "There are some adorable ones in here," he said as he rifled through the photos. Her employees quickly surrounded him to peer over his shoulder at them, while Allura fell back into her chair with a heavy sigh. "Your mother is thinking to make a scrapbook with the extra copies we have at the house. Hopefully it'll be done the next time you visit."

"Awww, she looks like a real princess in this one," Pidge chirped, snatching a photo up to show to the others.

Allura's curiosity piqued at their cooing. She leaned forward, just enough to signal her interest, and Pidge held over the picture. She guessed she was nearly ten in the photo, dressed for a ball as best she could remember. Her light blue gown shimmered in the camera's flash, her mother stood behind her in a pink gown, and they both wore matching gold circlets. She supposed it was all very regal, especially with the circlets on their brow.

"Ah, that was at Lady Trigel's estate outside of Cardiff," Alfor said. "If I remember, that is the night you spilled grape juice on your dress and sulked all through dinner. Bless my child, she did not tend to throw loud conniptions back then, but she could  _sulk_  like a princess. Ah! Here it is." He found a picture of her from that same evening, her dress ruined by a dark purple stain. She sat curled up on a chair, arms hugging her legs to her chest to hide the worst of the stain, while she pouted in the camera's direction. She could only assume her father had earned her glare by laughing at her misery. "It was just a dress, darling. Easily replaced."

"I loved that dress."

"You were growing out of it and would have needed to be fit for a new one within a month, anyway." He waved her off. "I swear, this girl shot up overnight."

Everyone snickered as they passed around pictures. Sometimes they cooed.

"So, is this the reason everyone calls you princess?" Lance asked as he held up yet another picture of her in a fancy gown. She was sixteen in that one, dressed in blue, white, and gold for a friend's debut.

"Ah, no, that's probably my fault," Alfor said.

"But, we haven't heard you call her princess once," Hunk pointed out.

"Yes, er,  _no_.  _I_  don't call her princess, nor does my wife. But, my middle name is Kingsley, so many of my college mates and business associates took to calling me King. Which of course makes Allura my princess," Alfor explained.

"But, Coran hasn't called you King," said Pidge.

"Ahh, no, he only calls me King Alfor if I've annoyed him." Alfor laughed as Coran took on a smug expression, his mustache twitching with humor. "But I do believe he's the first to call Allura princess. The nickname stuck ever since."

"Wait! Is that baby Allura wearing a Viking helmet?" Lance yelled.

Everyone crowded around as Alfor chuckled nervously. He turned the photo so Allura could see her cradled in another woman's arms, an ill-fitting horned helm perched on her tiny head. Her infant face was alight with laughter, even as the helm tilted forward to cover her eyes. She smiled despite the pang of loss in her heart.

 _Better times_.

"Zarkon was always terrible at gifts," Alfor joked.

"Wait, Zarkon?" Keith asked, pulling back in shock. " _The_  Zarkon that is the reason this place hasn't been operational in years?"

"Ahh, yes." Alfor's own smile was solemn as he stared down at the picture of his old friends. "He and I were once quite close. We were mates all the way back in college, and I met Honerva, his wife, in secondary school. She and my wife were classmates in Manchester. Very good friends." He chuckled quietly. "This was Zarkon and Honerva's first time meeting Allura. She was only… ohhh, two months old. Not even that. Only a few weeks later, we learned that Honerva was expecting." Another sad laugh. "Our friends had been trying for years. I thought they had given up to focus on their careers, accepting it as fate that they would never conceive."

An awkward silence fell over the group before Lance broke it with a question.

"So, how did you and Allura's mother meet? Probably some ball, right? That's how you English nobles meet."

Alfor's laugh was deep and long. "No, not quite. At least not all the time. I suppose I had a crush on Melenor for years, but our paths rarely crossed long enough for us to meet until I was… Oh,  _seventeen_. I had seen her at gatherings, dinners,  _balls_ , but she lived just outside Manchester, and I had all my schooling in London so it was a rarity.  _But_ , it was rather serendipitous that my school had taken a trip to Paris around the same time that she was there visiting an aunt. I saw her at the Louvre. Felt as though Cupid himself shot an arrow through my heart. Swore I staggered back in surprise to see  _the_  Lady Melenor standing beside me at a painting I can't even recall because its beauty could never rival hers."

Lance, Pidge, Hunk, and even Shiro cooed at the tale.

"I almost fumbled my chance to introduce myself properly. I followed her around like a lost puppy all day until she spun around with the most captivating smile and said,  _'Sir, if you continue to stalk me, I will have no choice but to have your testicles in a vise.'_  We were nearly inseparable ever since." He sighed wistfully. "Sometimes you just  _know_  when it's meant to be. Even Zarkon fell prey to Cupid's arrow…" He cut himself off, but the expectant stares of her employees urged him to continue. He chuckled nervously. "When I introduced Zarkon to Honerva, he was struck speechless. The buffoon stammered some polite  _'Nice to meet you,'_  or some such, and swiftly spun on his heel and walked away. He was so speechless, I did not hear him utter another word for a week. And we were flat-mates at the time! They married only three months later. It was truly fate for them…" Another sad smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "Funny thing fate is…"

The next heavy silence was broken when Pidge squeaked in delight at a picture. "Oh! Who is this cute little boy with her?"

Any trace of a smile Allura wore vanished, even as her father broke out into a wide and delighted grin. Her heart twisted too painfully for her to smile.

"That is little Lotor," Alfor announced. "Zarkon and Honerva's only son. Ahh, he was such an adorable little scamp. Truly…" His elation dimmed when he noticed her forlorn expression as he handed the picture over to her. She took it, despite the heavy weight in her chest. "That was at Allura's second birthday party," Alfor explained.

The room was decorated in balloons and streamers as she sat perched in her mother's arms, while Honerva held Lotor. The boy was a little over a year old at the time and had been captivated with her thick curly hair. Honerva could barely hold him still as he leaned out to pat Allura's thick mane, all smiles and laughs. His mother had not been pleased by his squirming. She wore a scowl in the photo and struggled to pull him back.

Another pang to her chest.

"I have a lot of him in here. Whenever they came to visit, he and Allura were practically joined at the hip," Alfor said as he fished out a stack of photos. "Here he is modeling his first school uniform for her. He was three at the time."

"Wow, so young?" Pidge asked as they stared at the picture of him standing straight, his hands clasped behind his back like a well-trained prince. He was supposed to look dour and grim, but with Allura standing in front of him in a simple dress, he grinned proudly until his father barked at him to look serious, as a man was supposed to.

"Why, of course. Never too early to start a child's education," Alfor said.

"Yeah, but…" Pidge glowered at the picture. "The way he's standing, he looks so much older…"

"But he's still tiny," Lance pointed out. "Scrawny, too. Allura looks huge compared to him."

"Yes, well…" Alfor cleared his throat and glanced to her. "The… uh… circumstances of his birth were… less than ideal."

That was a polite way of saying that he had been born weak because his mother was an addict.

"I've seen some pictures of him over the years. He's grown quite a bit. Towering gent, from what I hear. He just needed some time to catch up," Alfor added.

"Oh, you're in these," Shiro said, cutting into the ensuing awkwardness to hold up a set of photos that had been taken on the same day.

Alfor laughed when he saw them. "Ah! Allura, surely you remember this day," he said as he held the photos over.

She laughed even with the despair that came with these memories.

"Are you wearing real armor!?" Lance asked as he leaned over to see them better. "And is that a sword?"

Alfor chuckled. "It is not so hard for me to come by real armor."

"We were playing  _Castle_ ," Allura explained.

"Castle? Is that like playing  _House_?" Pidge asked.

"Something like that, I suppose." Allura snickered. "I was the princess…"

"Of course," Lance interjected.

"My father was my knight-in-shining-armor," she continued, pointing to her father in his silver armor. He was so happy and young as he played a silly children's game. "I was… five at the time?" She looked to her father.

He nodded. "It was the first time you made up the game… Well, the first time you played that variation with Lotor. We always played knight and princess, but the dragon was normally just a hedge. Not a little boy in costume."

He chuckled as he tapped a finger on the boy in the dark purple and blue costume. Lotor's arms were raised, fingers curled to resemble claws, and his mouth was open as though to let out a mighty roar at the knight trying to save her. Allura could not help but laugh at how endearing it was.

"Lotor was the dragon. He had captured me, the beautiful princess that he would treasure more than all the gold and jewels he hoarded," Allura explained with a watery laugh. "He was very upset when he learned that he was supposed to lose so that the knight could save me."

"He cried for an hour," Alfor announced. "It was a lucky thing his parents had left him with us for the weekend. Even his governess wasn't there to correct him." He winced when he realized just how Lotor's parents or governess would have ended his tantrum. "He  _very much_  wanted to keep the princess."

And he had been raised on the ideology that he could never lose at anything, even a game of pretend. Death was better than defeat.

"Allura was the one to come up with a very clever solution that made everyone happy… Well, except for her dear old dad." He feigned a sniffle, but quickly grinned when she swatted his arm.

"I decided that Lotor wasn't a dragon at all," Allura explained. "He was a prince under a terrible curse, one that could only be broken by true love's kiss." She found the photo of her pecking Lotor's cheek as he cried. It had startled him enough to cease his sobbing. He sat straight, his eyes wide, and mouth gaping open. "From that day forward, he never had to be a dragon again. He was my prince charming."

"Awww," Pidge and Hunk cooed. Shiro wore a warm smile. Keith had grown bored with the conversation. And Lance stood back rolling his eyes.

 _Better times_ , she thought sadly.

Her expression must have shown her mood better than she wished. Alfor cleared his throat and scooped up the photos with Lotor in them. "You can go through these later, darling," he whispered as he tucked them back into the box. He straightened once all the photos were hidden away. "Have you had lunch yet?" he asked.

"No, not yet."

"Splendid. Then will you join me? Your mother wants me to pick a few things up at the market before I catch the train back, but we can have tea and sandwiches first."

"That sounds lovely. Everyone - break for your lunches and then  _get back to work_ ," she ordered. She wanted to see some proposals, ideas,  _anything_.

She grabbed her phone, tucked it into her handbag, and stood to take her father's arm when he offered it. She waved goodbye at the others as her father escorted her out and breathed a sigh of relief the moment they exited the building.

"I do apologize for rekindling such bitter memories, dear," her father said as he held the passenger door of his car for her.

"It is quite all right." She blithely waved off his apology as she slid in. "I have not thought of him for years. It was nice remembering."

A bitter lie. She thought of him every time she read about Galra or Zarkon, his name briefly mentioned to remind the world he did exist. She thought of him on the rare occasion someone bothered to write an announcement of his latest achievement, though those had been sparse to begin with, and non-existent since he finished his business degree at university. She thought of him whenever she attended a dinner party or charity function, surrounded by shared acquaintances that would whisper about him when they thought she did not hear. He was never at the same gathering as she was, they always seemed to just miss their opportunity to reunite, as though fate itself sought to keep them apart.

Fate, or their fathers.

"Funny thing fate is…" she whispered to herself as her father drove toward Borough Market.

"What was that, darling?" Alfor asked.

"Oh!" She straightened in alarm and turned to smile at her father. "I was just reminiscing still. About how you and mother met. I've heard that story thousands of times, but I still love it."

Alfor chuckled. "Yes, I am sure  _that_  is what you were thinking about," he teased. "You do not have to share your thoughts if you do not wish. I know your opinion of my broken friendship well. I am certain that has not changed over the years."

She frowned at him. Of course, it had not changed. As much as she loathed Zarkon, his son had been innocent. They did not have to destroy her own precious friendship just because they could no longer see eye-to-eye on anything. As an adult, she knew that it would not have been easy to feign civility with each other for the sake of their children, but she continued to feel annoyed that they could not at least try.

"I have my regrets," Alfor confided. "And I am sure Zarkon does, too…" He grimaced with doubt. If Zarkon regretted anything, he was not inclined to show it. His pride meant too much to him to ever admit wrong about anything. "But, please understand, dear, that the situation was much too complicated to have a solution that appeased everyone. They were too far gone."

She pursed her lips, turning to glower out the window. She knew now that Zarkon and Honerva's addiction had changed them into monsters, but there had to be a better way than cutting them from their lives entirely. It was too late to change that now. Too many harsh words had been said, too many attempts to ruin the other. Both sides felt betrayed. Both sides felt wronged. It was a bitter fate.

Her father parked in a lot two blocks from the market. The conversation was put to rest as they walked arm in arm, her white heels clacking on the street to break the silence. He picked a quaint little café outside of the main market. They made polite chit-chat as they looked over the menu while waiting in line. All of lunch would be spent carefully avoiding the bitter topic of the Daibazaal family. They would tip-toe around it while discussing Altea and Voltron, she would ask about mother and the juniberry fields, and he would do his level best not to say anything that might remind her of the summer days she and Lotor spent playing among those flowers, or helping her mother and the seasonal staff with the harvest, or the time Lotor toddled into a vat of boiled berries, knocking it over onto himself and dying his soft white hair lavender.

For a friendship that only existed for five or six years of her childhood, there was a lot to be avoided.

They moved over to the pick-up counter to wait for their drinks – jasmine tea for her father, a cappuccino for herself. Her father had just begun to tell her the latest advancement in Altea's power core technology when his phone rang in the breast pocket of his white tweed blazer.

"Ah, darling, I must get this," he said, excusing himself. "Just be a minute."

"Of course, father." She waved him off as he hurried outside to answer the call.

It was just past the typical lunch hour, so the shop wasn't over-crowded, and being outside of the main market meant it would not see the rush other cafes and restaurants saw from the perpetually busy open marketplace. There were ample tables open, and she eyed one by the window as she waited for their drinks. It was a lovely sunny day. She could watch the people out enjoying it while she ate.

"Allura…"

She startled at the deep voice behind her. She thought her father had returned, but the voice was too young, and much too awestruck, too quiet, almost uncertain. She turned to see who called her.

She felt her whole world change at the sight of an impossibly tall man with long, flowing white hair and the deepest, darkest blue eyes she had ever known. Almost purple in the right light. The familiarity was instantaneous, slamming into her with enough force to leave her breathless. She gasped and then continued to gawk as she questioned her whole reality.

It was too much of a coincidence. Too…  _serendipitous._

"Lotor?" she asked, still uncertain that it was truly him.  _He looks just like his mother_ , she realized as she watched him step closer, gaping at her with wide, stunned eyes just as she did to him. He had Honerva's angular features, her sharp jaw. Perhaps his cheeks bones were more like his father's, his ears a bit, too, and Zarkon was undoubtedly where his height was from.  _Towering gent, indeed_. She almost laughed remembering what her father said. She was a tall woman, herself, but she had to crane her neck to meet his eyes as he came to stand in front of her.

 _Tall and lean_ , she noticed. His navy-blue waistcoat fit in a way that brought attention to his broad shoulders and trim waist. His suits had been oversized as a boy, made for him to grow into, but now he was a  _man_  and his attire made her painfully aware of just how much he had grown and changed over the years.

"Allura," he repeated, this time with more certainty, his surprise and confusion turning into a glint of excitement in his eyes. His lips tugged into a hint of a smile, and she had never known a heart could race as fast as hers did in that moment.

"You… are… You… ah…" She stammered and then laughed at how she must sound like an idiot. "You're in London again."

"Yes," he chuckled.

They both stepped forward and a moment passed where neither knew what to do next. As children, they would barrel into each other for a hug upon seeing each other. Lotor had sprinted across the lawn of her estate once and knocked her into the dirt while his governess admonished the behavior.

" _A gentleman does not greet a lady by knocking her on her rump and staining her dress,"_ Dayak would holler as she snatched him by the collar and set him on his feet. She knew even then that it was a kinder correction than he would have received had his father been there. He still flinched when Dayak raised her hand to brush dirt from his collar with more force than necessary.

But they were no longer children, and it certainly would be improper to greet one another with a hug, even if they did not fall to the floor from it. They had not seen each other in over twenty years. A hug was too informal.

"Ahh, it is good to see you again," Lotor said as he held out his hand.

"It has been far too long." She grinned as she took his hand. A polite touch, warm and soft. Tingles ran up her arm that she strove to ignore as she held his gentle gaze.

Overwhelmed with the depth in his eyes, she glanced down to their joined hands. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, exposing golden brown skin a few shades lighter than her own and a forearm that rippled with slender, defined muscle.

_A forearm should not be so attractive._

She shook away the errant thought and focused on the slender black leather cords wrapped around his wrist. She tilted his hand and giggled at the heavy silver skull dangling from the simple bracelet. It did not fit with his casual, but otherwise polished office attire.

She glanced up at him and cocked her brow in silent curiosity.

He snorted. "An insidious remnant of a rebellious phase," he explained as he slipped his hand from hers.

"How scandalous," she teased while pulling her phone from her purse. She showed him the back, prompting him to chuckle at the white and pink case covered in a large glittery skull. It was cuter than his, with a crystal tiara on its head, but she still held onto parts of her own goth phase. She could not call it a rebellion. Her father had not even batted an eye when she came home one day with pink hair and black lipstick. Her etiquette tutor threw a conniption, but her parents just helped her redecorate.

"Alfor," a server called from the counter.

Allura nearly jumped in surprise at the reminder that her father would be along again any moment.

"Alfor?" Lotor asked, his gaze snapping from hers to search the shop. "He's here?"

"Ahh, yes," she said as she turned to the counter where a tray sat with her cappuccino, a pot of tea, and an empty cup. "We're having lunch together. He just stepped outside to take a call. You must have just passed him."

"Oh." He breathed out a sigh, as though relieved, and then turned to her with another smile. "Let me," he offered, reaching for the tray before she could take it. "Where are you sitting?"

"By the window, please." She pointed to the empty table and led the way. She felt so giddy at his mere presence. It was silly, but she could not help the excitement welling up in her chest. "Thank you," she said as he set the tray on her table. "You did not have to."

"I wanted to," he said easily.

"Well, thank you. Ahhhh…" She did not know what to say next, but she became distracted when she noticed the woman hovering at Lotor's elbow. She was dressed in a crisp blue suit but wore a slim hoodie over it despite the warm day. She was as tall and lean as Lotor, a dark shadow following in his wake. The tight, natural curls of her hair were cropped short, fitting her long, slender face beautifully. Her eyes stood out in bright contrast against her dark skin and the shadows of her hood. The sclera had a yellowish tint to them, while the irises were a vibrant purple. Those eyes flicked silently between Allura and Lotor, curious and intrigued, while the rest of her expression remained neutral. "Oh, how rude of me. It seems that you are not alone," she said, pointing to the woman.

Lotor snapped his head around, surprise flitting over his face. "Oh, no, my mistake," he said, clearing his throat as he stepped back for her to see the other woman better. "Allura, this is Narti, one of my assistants. Narti, this is Allura Altea," he introduced, waving between them.

"It is a pleasure to meet you," Allura said as she held out her hand.

The woman stared at it a moment, then met her gaze, and then glanced at Lotor who cocked a brow at her. Finally, long, slender fingers wrapped around her own. Narti inclined her head to silently return the greeting. Allura wondered if she was shy, but as soon as she pulled her hand back, Narti gestured something to Lotor.

 _Sign language_ , she realized.

"I know," he said with a sigh. He turned to her with an apologetic smile. "I wish I could stay and catch up, but I have an assistant waiting with a realtor. I cannot keep them waiting long. And I should not interrupt your lunch with your father."

"Oh, of course. Of course. It was wonderful seeing you again, Lotor." She refused to be crestfallen at the brief reunion. It  _was_  good to see him again, especially after the flood of memories that day. He looked well, and that was most important to her.

He pressed a hand to his chest and bowed his head.  _Just like her prince would,_  she mused.

"I will leave you to your lunch," he said. "Perhaps we can catch up another time."

"Yes." She nodded, though she hoped she did not look over-eager. "I would like that."

His smile returned, this time wide enough to let her see a peek of a white tooth. She felt warm and light-headed, but she endured as she watched him turn away. He flashed one last look at her as he escorted his assistant to the counter, and she all but collapsed in her chair.

She tried not to stare as he placed his order, took care to look away every time he glanced her way while he waited for their coffee. She tried to remain calm and collected, all while a frantic energy swelled to life in her chest, a sense of panic that an opportunity was slipping by.

She made a decision as soon as she heard them call his name and snatched a pen from her handbag. She scrawled her number on a napkin as quick as she could and jumped up to catch him as he headed for the door.

"Here," she said, thrusting the napkin to him as her cheeks seemed to catch fire. "If you ever want to have lunch or get a drink… To  _catch up_ ," she explained in a rush while he stared at the napkin. His gaze slowly cast back up to her. "If… if you wish to, that is."

Lotor's gaze softened. "I would be delighted," he said, gently taking the napkin with a polite nod. "It was a pleasure running into you here…  _Princess._ "

The way he said the nickname was like a soft caress. It took every ounce of willpower not to sigh like a demure lady and melt to the floor. She covered her mouth to muffle her giggle, afraid she would sound too much like a schoolgirl with a crush. She was just happy to see him again. After so long. All grown up. Into a handsome man.

"You, as well," she returned, bowing her head as she stepped away.

He waved as he led his assistant out the door and she hurried back to her table to watch him hand his iced coffee to his assistant while he took out his phone. He paused just in front of the window as he typed in her number, and then waved his phone at her just before her own chimed.

' _I am free Saturday night if you would like to join me for a drink'_  read a message from an unfamiliar number. She glanced at the window where Lotor waited, his coffee once more in hand for him to sip at while he waited.

She grinned and quickly responded.  _'Saturday would be lovely.'_

' _Is 7 all right?'_ he texted back.

' _Perfect.'_

She watched his smile form.  _'I will text you the place when I return to the city. We can meet there if you wish.'_

' _I look forward to it.'_

He was grinning even wider than before as he slipped his phone into his pocket and waved, turning away as soon as she waved back. His assistant lingered a moment longer, glancing between her retreating boss and the shop while she balanced her own phone with a paper bag and a carrier that held two coffees. Allura did not know what to think when she hurried off, a thumb flying over the screen of her smartphone.

The assistant's behavior did not matter. She was too elated to care what the woman might think of the encounter. Her giddiness lingered as she read and re-read their simple messages.

Her cheeks still burned with excitement when her father returned, startling her as he placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"Sorry that took so long, dear," he said as he slipped into the seat across from her. "You could have drunk your coffee while you waited on me. No need letting it get cold."

"Oh, I was… just lost in thought. Forgot all about it," she said, picking up her warm mug to take a sip. It had cooled more than she would prefer, but she smiled and refused to complain. It was her fault for getting so caught up in Lotor's presence.

"Are you feeling all right, darling?" her father asked suddenly, pausing in the middle of pouring out his tea. "You look rather flushed."

She straightened in her chair. "Oh… it's just… so warm today. The unseasonable heat must be affecting me quite strongly."

Alfor's brows knit in concern. "Perhaps you should have a rest this afternoon. I can take you home after we eat."

"No, no. I am fine, father. Just warm." She slipped her jacket off and fanned herself. "No need for concern."

He remained unconvinced and stood. "Then at least let me fetch you some ice water. Our lunch should be out soon, too. I want you to eat every scrap on your plate, young lady. You need proper nourishment if you're feeling ill in this weather."

"Yes, of course, father," she said, knowing better than to argue or make any further excuses. They were all lies, after all. She could not tell her father that she had just run into Lotor Daibazaal and planned to meet him for drinks that weekend. Alfor may have once adored the little prince when they were children, but she did not know what his thoughts would be of the man now that they were grown.

Their families were meant to be enemies, after all.

With that thought, her excitement soured. She did not like hiding anything from her father, but for now she would keep this reunion to herself. Once she knew where her father may stand on it, she would tell him.

She hoped she would not have to keep it a secret for long.

* * *

 

"Give me the phone, Narti," Lotor commanded as soon as they were in his car. She had remained one step behind him on the walk back, so he had not noticed her furious typing until they were a foot away and he finally bothered to look at her.

His mind had been too engrossed by thoughts of the woman he had just run in to. He had not planned to see her quite so soon, but he was elated at the happenstance meeting, and further excited that she had given her number unsolicited. He had not expected her to take such initiative. He was glad of it, though.

But first, he had to put an end to the gossip.

"Narti," he warned when she continued her typing. He reached for her phone and she twisted her body – mindful of the drinks in her lap – to keep it just out of his reach. He leaned over, grateful for his longer limbs, and nearly snatched it, but Narti grabbed him by the wrist, holding him firm so she could finish her last response.

She handed over her phone without any further argument, her expression perfectly neutral, though the glimmer in her eyes reminded him of a cat that was far too pleased with herself. He sneered at the smugness and turned away to read what the girls were chattering about this time.

"I do not pay you to play paparazzi and gossip behind my back," he growled as he read through all the messages. Ezor was delighted. She cooed and asked questions about Allura. Narti responded with a picture of them talking at the counter.

He glared at Narti from the corner of his eye.

"Not behind you back, sir," she signed.

He held the phone up and pointed at the picture. "That is my back, Narti. You were literally standing behind me as you talked about my personal affairs."

She shrugged, signing, "You know what I mean."

He growled under his breath and scrolled through more messages while Narti sipped at her iced coffee. The rattle of ice against her straw and the noisy slurp all felt unnecessary, and he just knew she was watching him with that same proud look in her eyes. She was far too pleased with herself.

Acxa, bless her heart, was more concerned with how much longer they would be and whether they would get her a coffee, too. Her loyalty was unquestionable, and she was smart enough not to press on this subject. Not unless she had to, and he hoped that she never would.

Zethrid asked what the odds of him getting laid were. He was unsurprised by the crass question, but it still left him perturbed. He was not interested in seeing Allura again because he wished to get her in his bed. He merely wanted to reconnect with an old friend.

That was what the tightening in his chest was all about. The swirling and fluttering in his stomach, too. She was a good friend when he was a boy, and she could be again if he played his cards right.

And she was the key to ending his accursed life.

Anything beyond that were just remnants of a boyhood crush churned up by wistful nostalgia. All those memories flooding back at the sight of her were nothing more than the idyllic fantasy created by a little boy trapped in a household rife with contempt and anger and abuse.

She was the princess with her moonlight hair running through an endless field of flowers until their rich scent clung to her in a way that he could never associate the flower with anyone but her.

Narti tapped his shoulder to get his attention.

"She's cute," she signed.

He sank back in his seat, handed her phone back, and shut his eyes to rub away the threat of a headache.

 _Cute is an understatement_ , he thought to himself.  _Breathtaking, more like._

The buzz of excitement he left the coffee shop with was quickly replaced by a sense of dread and doom. He was in for a world of trouble if this reunion reached the wrong ears.

He forced himself to turn serious, to focus on the work ahead of him, and straightened as he started the car.

"If this gets out, all four of you are fired," he warned Narti.

She stiffened, her eyes dulled. "We wipe all our conversation logs at the end of each day. No one will know," she explained in a rapid flurry of signs.

He narrowed his eyes on her with one last silent warning, and then nodded to show that her reassurance was enough to appease him.

He really did not want to hire new assistants. Loyal ones were so hard to find.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to sprinkle in headcanons for the generals throughout this fic, rather than bog down a chapter with their descriptions. Hopefully it's enough to describe their human appearances.


	3. The Rift

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A wild Romelle appears! My Romelle is a combination of 80s Romelle and her current incarnation, or what we know of her. She has 80s Romelle's backstory (sort of), but her personality is what we saw in season 7, with a little of my own creative influence. I hope you enjoy her.

Allura decided to take her father's advice and go home for the afternoon after she returned to the office to hear Lance and Keith arguing about…  _something_. She was not quite sure the subject they were butting heads over, nor did she care. All she knew was that it was  _loud_  and  _unproductive_.

Shiro explained that they were trying to narrow down where to focus their programs on first, somewhere with needs that all divisions could lend a hand in, allowing for a trial run of sorts that let the team work together toward a shared goal. She liked the idea, but it seemed they had stalled when the two men refused to agree on anything. Keith shot down every single one of Lance's ideas, and Lance took offense. From there, the argument quickly got sidetracked into a matter that did not appear to have anything to do with the original disagreement. Shiro swore he had it under control, despite all the yelling, and Coran assured her that he could keep an eye on the group that afternoon, so she left with minimal reservations.

So long as the building was still standing when she returned the next day, then she would let them argue and work things out on their own terms. Once she heard back from Puig's owner on the offer she made, they would have a better idea of where to focus, too. He had said that he wanted his lawyers to look it over, but she should hear back by the end of the week. The offer she put together was too generous for him to decline, so if all the details were in order, they could move forward with a new resource available to their foundation.

She had work that could be done at home, calls to make. She had every intention of seeing that they were completed by four o'clock, just as they would be if she were at the office.

She walked in the door of her terraced home, kicked off her shoes in the hall leading from the garage, went up to the ground floor to grab a bottled water, and bounded up to her home office on the third floor. She tried to work. She truly did. She made herself comfortable at her desk, pulled her email up on the computer, and stared at the terms of the contract for Altea's security personnel that would be sent to Puig. The words blurred together, and she found herself glancing at the box of photos more than she should. Those pictures, those memories, inspired different emotions in her after seeing Lotor again. Her heart tugged with a desire to reminisce.

She gave up on work and ran up to her bedroom on the fifth floor to change into a pair of skinny jeans and a pink and white cropped tee, slipped on white flats, and was out the front door. She had a craving for something sweet and a walk to the market a few blocks away might clear her head.

It didn't, but she knew it was a long shot to begin with.

When she returned home, she continued to feel giddy and light. She wanted to dance, as though she were a child again. She would give in to the feeling, get it out of her system, and the next day she would return to work as focused and driven as she ought to be.

She had remodeled her house with a full entertainment system, speakers running throughout. She set the stereo to a playlist full of songs she loved to dance to – pop, electronic, and some punk sprinkled in. With music flooding through her house, Allura set to work baking as she hummed and danced. It was the most carefree afternoon she had in months. With all the work preparing Voltron's new headquarters and transferring from Altea Industries, she had not had a moment to just breathe and enjoy the changes in her life.

She had loved her medical research department at Altea, but she wanted to make a direct impact on the world. She wanted to meet the people her research aided, she wanted to do more to help others live better lives without weighing them down with costs or leaving them beholden to the charity of others. Certainly, the NGO was a charitable sort of organization, but it would only provide the basic supports. They would help others take those supports and build something their own from it, and hopefully provide them with the peace they had been robbed of.

She knew she was impatient to reach that goal. Her father had raised her to follow in his footsteps, to lead Altea Industries, as well as oversee Voltron's future success. She wanted to meet his expectations, surpass them, even. Her whole life, she was groomed for this, but she had truly only begun days ago. There would be no success without her team there to help provide it, and while she had years of preparation behind her, they were still learning how to operate as a team and understand how they all needed to fit together to make her dreams a reality.

A day to remind herself that life was not all work and no play would renew her focus. She could celebrate seeing an old friend, revel in memories of days that were simpler, freer. She wanted everyone to have days as simple and carefree as those few years of her childhood, after all. It would do no harm to remind herself of those feelings.

She had just pulled the miniature cakes from the oven and was busy mixing the whip cream as she danced to Florence and the Machine, when her doorbell rang. Not just a single ring, either. Multiple, incessant, panicked buzzers followed by rapid knocks that were hard enough to rattle the door.

"Coming," she hollered, setting the bowl of whip cream down and snatching a towel as she hurried off to the front door. The knocks grew louder and more frantic. She half expected to open her door to the world ending, but when she looked out the peephole, she merely saw a familiar head of blonde hair and violet eyes wide with panic. "Romelle," she greeted as she unlocked the door. "What is the matter?" she asked when her cousin shoved her way in the moment she began to open the door.

"Shut the door," Romelle said, flying off to the front reception room to shut the windows and close the blinds. "Hurry! Close all the windows! The blinds! Oh, you have too many windows! Why do you have so many windows?"

Her cousin was a blur of movement as she slammed windows shut and ran off upstairs.

"What in heavens are you doing?" Allura hollered from the bottom stairwell. She could hear Romelle tearing through her house, the floor boards creaking and thudding as she ran around.

"We must secure this place," Romelle called in answer. " _Why_ are there so many windows?" Her voice grew more distant as she ran to the upper levels, but Allura could hear her breathlessness. "Oh no! The terrace! Your bedroom is completely vulnerable! He will find a way to scale this building and that will be it!"

"He? Who is he? Who are you afraid of?" Allura asked as Romelle barreled back downstairs.

Her cousin grasped her shoulders and leveled her with the most terrified, frustrated gaze she had ever seen.  _"Him!_  Allura…  _Him!"_

"I do not understand. Are you feeling ill?" She pressed her hand to Romelle's forehead and glowered at her flushed face. The pink in her cheeks was likely from her race around the house, and her pallor was because of whatever got her into such a tizzy in the first place. Still, she worried.

Romelle groaned and batted her hand away. She rolled her eyes. "You are being purposefully obtuse. You know very well who-" She cut herself off and narrowed her eyes. "You have flour on your cheek." She tilted her head back and gave a sniff. "Are you baking? Oh!"

She shoved Allura aside as quick as she had come in and raced to the kitchen. Allura heaved a long sigh when she heard Romelle's delighted squeal.

"Your miniature shortcakes!" Romelle cried out in delight. "The only edible thing to come out of this kitchen!"

"Oh please," Allura huffed as she wandered back to the kitchen. Her cousin stood before the rack holding the little cakes as they cooled. She  _literally_  vibrated with excitement. "I am perfectly capable of making other dishes."

"Oh, yes, of course. Berry tarts. Muffins. Biscuits. Oh! Your cherry and macadamia ones are to die for." Romelle sighed wistfully. "And your scones." She moaned. "If it is served with tea, you are more than capable, yes. But… anything else." She stuck her tongue out in disgust.

"Really? You are exaggerating," Allura admonished, picking up the bowl of cream to continue whipping it. "But if you are done mocking my culinary skills, will you tell me what has gotten in to you today."

Romelle pouted. "You really have no idea? I thought it would be obvious." She waved at the shrouded windows. "Your stalker has returned."

"Stalker?" Allura cocked her head in confusion. "What ever are you talking about?"

Romelle's eyes widened as though it should be obvious. She waved her arms again as if she would conjure the answer out of thin air. When Allura continued to stare, she gave up with a dramatic huff. "Lotor!"

Allura stopped mixing the cream and let out a quiet, "Oh." She should tell Romelle that she already knew Lotor was in London again. She should tell her that she had just run into him earlier that day. But, she knew better than to say anything that may dissuade her cousin's intense dislike for the man. She had her reasons, genuinely good ones from her perspective, but Allura had long ago learned to take Romelle's stories with a grain of salt.

In Romelle's eyes, the whole Daibazaal family was utter filth. Her family were distant Welsh cousins of her father – the Pollux clan. Romelle's father was a former naval officer turned merchant when he took over the family's maritime shipping company. When the Alteas and Daibazaals fell out, he did not stand with his cousin, he took the side that most profited him – Galra Corp. He held lucrative contracts with Zarkon and there was more power in that wealth than he gained from familial loyalty.

It was another tragic childhood loss for Allura that came only a year after losing Lotor. She had not understood why she had to lose her cousin's friendship, too.

She had been fortunate to regain her friendship just as she entered university but had been taken back by the sheer vitriol she spat about the Daibazaals. She carried on about how they had ended her older brother Antok's life, were selfish, parasitic heathens who cared only for what they could gain from the Pollux family and the few ties they still had to the Alteas. For a while, Allura sympathized with her, agreed that they were horrendous monsters – Lotor, included.

Until her father informed her of the full truth on the matter nearly a year later.

Coba, Romelle's father, had used his freights to smuggle the purest strains of cocaine he could find in South America, all for Zarkon and Honerva's personal use. His son was captaining one of those ships when they crossed paths with a British Naval fleet that had been tipped off about the smuggling routes. Antok decided he would not go down quietly, turned a simple search into a battle that Allura imagined rivaled those from the old pirate age. Antok died and Coba fought against charges of smuggling, only to find himself serving out a twenty-five-year sentence while his youngest son, Bandor, seized control of the company and reached out to the Altea family for help.

Zarkon did nothing to protect the family, of course. He would not sully his hands with it, not when he had his own empire to run. Her father, on the other hand, would not abandon Bandor in his time of need. He was much too young to run a company, after all. He brought the Pollux company under his umbrella and has since rebuilt it to its former glory, without the illegal smuggling operation.

Romelle's contempt for Lotor was more personal in nature, her annoyance and dislike twisted after her family was nearly ruined. Her father had arranged for her to attend a gala as Lotor's escort once. They had only been seventeen at the time, and Romelle had been excited for her  _date_  with the Galra heir, the handsome, young prince she dreamed him to be – something she eventually admitted to Allura. Unfortunately, the date had not been as magical as she might have hoped. Lotor ignored her throughout the evening. The only conversation he deigned to attempt was to ask about Allura and when Romelle had no news to share, he went about pretending she did not exist.

The rudeness had irked Allura, but she had not thought much of his attempt at conversation. He was likely searching for something to speak of that was of common interest or thought it polite to ask about his date's family. He could have tried harder to find more suitable conversation topics when that one failed, true, but she did not view it as proof that he was obsessed with her.

It was hard to paint him a villain for an innocuous question when she had eavesdropped on conversations about him and might have, on one or two occasions, specifically asked of him.

Romelle was  _convinced_  that Lotor was stalking Allura, that he had his sights set on her. She thought he meant to use her for Altea's resources, for access to information on her father's companies to help bolster his father's lawsuits. She thought the worst because Lotor was a Daibazaal and obviously lacked any sense of morals.

Allura found it all to be silly nonsense, especially considering she and Lotor had not seen each other, much less spoken since they were children. He had not even attempted to follow her on any of her social media accounts. She could not imagine him putting any effort into  _stalking_  her.

"I just learned from Bandor this afternoon. His former friends at Galra had called to inform him, but I fear the warning came too late." Romelle slinked around to the island counter and collapsed on a stool. Her lip puffed out in a pout. "Oh, I hope it is not late. Surely, with Galra's resources he has already set a spy upon this place. I am surprised he has not struck already."

Allura cleared her throat and looked away. She felt guilty for not sharing in her cousin's paranoia, but it was impossible for her to believe the worst.

"You are overreacting, Romelle," she said. "I have not noticed any strange cars outside, no one has followed me home. No one accosted me on my way to the market, unless you count a poor homeless gentleman asking for a penny to use the public toilet."

Romelle straightened in alarm. "That man could have been one of his agents!"

Allura rolled her eyes. "I doubt it. I gave him the coins he needed, plus a few extra quid to get some food and water, and then I watched him race off toward the nearest loo. He  _was not_  an agent, or a PI hired to follow me, or a  _mercenary_  of some sort out to kidnap me."

"But he might have been," Romelle exclaimed in frustration. "Did he touch you? He might have placed a tracker on your clothes! That way Lotor can know where you are at any given time! We must burn that outfit. It is the only way to be safe."

Allura set aside her cream and turned from her cousin with a sigh. "If he only put a tracker on these clothes, then he will only be able to follow me when I wear this specific outfit." She went to the cupboard to grab two large wine glasses and turned for the small wine cooler beneath the island. A Moscato would go well with shortcake. "And if you fear him finding this house, he already knows where it is since it  _was_  my father's, and Lotor attended one of the Christmas parties my father threw here."

"Oh no… Then you must move.  _Immediately._  I have a spare room in my flat – " She snapped her mouth shut when Allura set a glass in front of her and began to pour out the chilled wine, filling it to the brim. "Or…" She forced herself to calm and daintily reached for the glass. "We could get sloshed and pretend he doesn't exist at all."

"Splendid idea, cousin," Allura said as she filled her glass. Liquor and sweets – a surefire way to calm Romelle down long enough for her sanity to return. "You are welcome to stay the night, too. I do not plan to go in to the office until the afternoon. We can stay up late chatting about whatever you want."

_Except for Lotor._

Romelle perked up. "Movie marathon!"

"Disney?" Allura asked with a snicker.

"Of course! Wine and shortcake pair best with princesses. It is a fact of the universe."

"Oh, I was hoping Star Trek. Or perhaps an Aliens marathon," she teased.

Romelle grimaced. "No. If you must watch anything about alien races, then we can watch the Thor movies…" She took a long sip and set her glass down with a resolute nod. "I changed my mind. Chris Hemsworth marathon. That is what pairs best with wine and cake."

Allura feigned a grudging sigh. "Well, if you  _insist_."

"I do," she said, chin arrogantly tilted up. "Now finish making those cakes so I can have a proper food orgasm before fantasizing about that  _God_  of a man giving me –" Allura flung a spoonful of cream into her cousin's face to cut her off before she could venture into a vulgar fantasy that told Allura far more than she ever cared to know about her cousin's appetites. It was only a temporary reprieve. If they finished off the bottle of wine, Romelle would not be silenced until she ran through every lurid detail about every Chris, Tom, and Harry, perhaps a Jane thrown in the mix, that she could think of.

* * *

 "Windows…" a slurred voice moaned beside her at a disgustingly early hour, rousing her from a dreamless sleep. "Too many windows…"

Allura pulled the comforter off her head to glare at her cousin. Romelle's makeup was smeared, her hair knotted and frizzed, a few tendrils fallen into her face with one stuck in her mouth. A fresh puddle of drool had collected on her pillow in the night, and the white sheet was covered in the rest of her makeup. Her cousin's eyes squeezed shut as she buried beneath the blanket and pillow to escape a ray of sunlight that broke through a seam in her thick, pink and gold curtains.

"The sun is evil… Kill it… The world would be better without it…" Romelle moaned.

"Posh," Allura huffed as she pulled the blankets up over the woman's head. "Then what would you bake under on your next Mediterranean holiday?"

Romelle answered with a longer moan.

"And that is just your hangover talking," Allura continued with a stretch. She only had two glasses of wine, Romelle drank the rest of the bottle and tapped into a second while they watched the last movie –  _Snow White and the Hunstman_  so that she could have a fairy tale and Chris Hemsworth at the same time. "I told you to take the west facing guest room."

"Too far. Too many stairs," Romelle muttered.

"My bedroom is on the top floor and I have a lift, remember? I took it to drag your bloody arse up here."

She felt a hand slide over the large bed to smack hers. "Your bed's nicer and someone needs to protect you from the evil prince. He might have broken in through the terrace in the middle of the night and had his way with you. I am protecting your virtue."

Allura snorted in an unladylike manner. "You would have been useless if he had. You were out cold the moment your head hit the pillow." She giggled at the woman's loud groan. "And I think my virtue was quite ruined after going on holiday  _with you_  to the Caribbean years ago."

Romelle pushed the blanket and pillow back enough to show her wicked smirk. "I forgot you shagged the cabana boy."

She rolled her eyes. "He was not a cabana boy, and I did not  _shag_  anyone… I would hardly even call it a dalliance." Romelle snorted in amusement. " _And_  you have no right to judge if I had. You shagged that Swede and I bet you cannot even remember his name."

"Sven," Romelle sighed, her smile turning dreamy and wistful. "Whatever could he be up to these days?"

"While you ponder that, I think I'll take a shower," Allura said, eager to escape the bed when her cousin shut her eyes and hummed with pleasure. She suspected the woman was still quite drunk. "I'll have breakfast ready whenever you feel like joining the land of the living again."

She caught Romelle's look of disgust as she climbed out of bed. "Please tell me you only have yogurt and granola, or energy bars. Apples, perhaps? Nothing that requires cooking."

"You need something greasy and filling for your stomach, Romelle."

"Then take me out to breakfast, just please… do not attempt to cook anything."

"I have eggs and bacon. You will eat what I make."

Romelle moaned as though in pain. "You intend to murder me. Do you really hate me so?"

"You are being overly dramatic. I can handle a simple breakfast."

"No… No, you bloody well cannot."

Allura grabbed her pillow and slammed it onto Romelle's head. Why did everyone have to make a mockery of her cooking? So, she tended to get sidetracked when she cooked, and a few things might be black about the edges. A little charring did not make a dish inedible.

As an added punishment, she threw up the curtains that shrouded the glass door leading to her rooftop terrace, flooding the room with sunlight. Romelle whined and buried herself beneath the comforter.

"Tosser," she heard Romelle hiss while she headed for the bath.

She still had a few hours before she had to get ready for work, so she threw on a pair of loose sweatpants and a tank top after her shower. Romelle had fallen back to sleep by the time she returned to the bedroom, snoring peacefully somewhere within a cocoon of blankets of pillows. She left her to sleep and skipped down to the kitchen to get a pot of coffee started. She would start the kettle for Romelle's morning tea once the girl was conscious again, assuming she did not sleep the morning away to avoid breakfast.

Allura checked her email as she sipped a mug of sweetened black coffee. Nothing urgent needed her attention. There were some promising research proposals from the chem team at Altea tasked to help with her Voltron division, but she could read those at the office and pass along her notes later. Shiro emailed a status update on the Voltron team's argument from the day before – no progress made, but Keith and Lance did declare a ceasefire in their battle of wills, so not all was lost. Pidge emailed a link for a security patch she created for their office network. She had taken the liberty of installing it on all the computers at the office, but she recommended that Allura add it to her home office, as well. The others had promised to do the same. At least someone had accomplished something.

She got started on breakfast once she heard water running upstairs. She threw the bacon on a griddle and set to work on a batch of scrambled eggs. She had two bagels left to toast. She would slather hers in cream cheese and blackberry jam, while she would leave soft butter out for Romelle's. She doubted her cousin could stomach more than that, but she might surprise her.

Just as she began to start a kettle for tea, her phone rang with a text message.

' _There is a pub in Kensington – Naxzela. My assistant said it does not get overly rowdy. Shall we meet there Saturday?'_  the message from Lotor read.

Her cheeks heated with her smile and excitement fluttered in her chest. She had to bite her lip to keep from giggling in delight as she typed out her response.

' _Sounds lovely. I look forward to it.'_

' _As do I,'_  he responded.  _'7 still a good time?'_

' _Yes. I will see you then.'_  She ended her text with a grinning cat emoji and hoped it wasn't too cutesy. He would probably think her a silly girl, but she could not help it. Nor could she help the joyous leap she made as she spun around to set her phone on the counter.

She yelped in surprise when she found her cousin seated at the island, cheek perched on her hand as she wore a tired grin.

"Someone has a date," Romelle sang.

"I… No… Whatever gives you that idea?" Allura stammered as she shoved her phone into the pocket of her sweats. She could not risk setting it on the counter with Romelle there. She would snatch it in a second and see that she was talking to Lotor. The drama that would come if that was revealed too soon.

"Because your cheeks are redder than I have ever seen them and you cannot stop smiling," Romelle pointed out. "Not to mention the evasiveness.  _And_  your voice pitched two octaves up. You only squeak like that when you have a secret. So? Who is the mystery date?"

Allura cleared her throat and forced herself to calm down. Her face ached with the effort of schooling her expression, and she could not seem to ease the warmth of her blush, but she could not have Romelle know the truth.

"It is  _not_  a date," she said as she pushed the scrambled eggs around, cursing when she noticed the dry, brown spots around the edges. Not the worst batch of eggs she ever made, but far from the best.

"But you are going out with someone that you obviously would like to date," Romelle prodded.

Allura nearly spluttered out another denial, but she pursed her lips tight and fought off the urge. Besides, she could not say that she wanted to date anyone. Lotor was certainly a handsome man, but she had only just seen him again for the first time in  _decades_. And dating him would be less than ideal considering their fathers' feud.

She read enough Shakespeare to know how  _that_  would end. Even a friendship could turn tragic.

The reminder sobered her mood, made her stoic façade easier to maintain as she scraped the eggs out onto two plates. "I am just meeting an old friend for drinks on Saturday. Nothing more than that."

Romelle hummed, unconvinced, but Allura brushed off her scrutiny as she continued to plate everything. Her cousin dropped the subject entirely once she had a plate loaded with bacon, eggs, and two slices of grilled tomatoes in front of her.

"It…  _looks_  almost edible," Romelle assessed, prodding the mound of eggs. "Perhaps a bit overcooked, but… considering you have a  _date_ , I suppose I can forgive it." Allura rolled her eyes. Apparently, the subject was not quite as dropped as she had hoped. "Ketchup?"

Allura sighed as she went to get the bottle from the fridge. "It cannot be so awful that you need to defile your eggs with tomato sauce."

"Oh, I'm sure it is  _wonderful_." A blatant lie. "The eggs just look dry, is all. Could use a little something."

"You are disgusting," Allura said as she watched Romelle drown her eggs in ketchup. "And you complain about my cooking."

"This is the only way I can stomach your cooking."

"You add ketchup to everything."

"Hardly everything."

"More than you are supposed to."

Romelle pointedly shoveled a forkful of red eggs into her mouth and scrunched her nose. "Delicious," she said. Allura tried not to gag.

At least she got something resembling a compliment on her cooking.

"Oh, I forgot to mention last night," Romelle said between bites, "I've got a few girls together from Altea to make an amateur lacrosse team. I could still use a solid midfielder, though."

There was an obvious plea in her tone, yet Allura still dared to glance at her from the corner of her eye. She groaned at the puff in her lip, the watery eyes. Romelle would not give her a chance to refuse her once.

"I am busy, Romelle."

"If it was a rugby team, you would have said yes immediately," she huffed.

That was certainly true, but she had played rugby all through secondary school and university. She humored Romelle by playing lacrosse for a short time, and while she did enjoy it, she preferred rugby.

"These girls aren't aggressive enough," Romelle continued to whine.

"And you want me for a midfielder? Not an attacker?"

"You are  _too_  aggressive as an attacker. You will scare the others away in a single practice."

"I am  _not_  that aggressive."

"You are! You get this competitive fire in you and will level anyone who stands in your way. Even  _I_  am frightened of you," Romelle said. "Even at midfield you are a terror, but you quell your need to score to play a good defense, too. At the very least, could you come to a few practices to help me teach them."

"Why are you even putting together an amateur team?"

Romelle shrugged. "Was hoping it would make for a good bonding experience at the office. Bring the girls together for something fun."

"Oh, are you trying to make new friends?" Allura teased. She waved off her cousin's pout. "I will help you at practice, but I cannot make any further commitments. It's not a bad idea, though. Perhaps I should do the same with Voltron. Two of the boys could use a proper team building exercise."

Though, maybe not with such an aggressive sport. They might actually hurt each other and then she would have to start from scratch.  _Football_  should be tame enough. She hoped.

She would discuss the idea with Shiro when she got into the office. He might have his own ideas for them.

Her plans for the day changed just as she finished cleaning the dishes. She thought nothing of it when she saw Coran's name flash on her phone and jostled about with a drying towel as she answered.

"Emergency," Coran screamed over the line before she could even greet him. "It's an emergency, Allura!"

"Coran, calm down. What has gotten you into a tizzy now?"

"It's the factory! Check your email, they forwarded both of us a copy. Oh, it's not at all what we expected. How could this have happened? The terms were ideal! They had to agree!"

Her blood ran cold as Coran's panicked rambling began to make sense. She rushed up to her office, ignoring Romelle's question of "What's the matter?" hollered from the reception room where she flipped through the channels on the telly.

All the air in her lungs rushed out of her once she had the email up in front of her. She could only gape in shock while Coran continued his meltdown.

"I thought to call Mr. Puig as soon as I saw this, but I knew you would want to talk to him yourself," she heard Coran say after minutes of staring blankly at the screen.

"He refused the offer? He… he's going with another? But…" She blinked and tried to understand how it could change so suddenly. "The other offers were merely contracts that did nothing to address his major concerns. He will have Galra forces interfering in all his business activity if he does not settle for a buy-out from a company that can protect him and his workers. It's… It's practically suicide to consider another… Unless… Oh no."

Did Galra approach him? It was the only way that he could refuse. Zarkon must have sent some muscle there to intimidate him. But, he had not made any effort to renegotiate their agreement, why the sudden change?

"How soon can you be here?" Coran asked. "I'll send an email off to Mr. Puig to let him know that you wish to discuss this with him  _today_."

"I can be there…" She glanced at the clock. "Half nine now… I can be there by eleven."

"Good, we'll be waiting for you."

"Thank you for the heads up, Coran," Allura said before hanging up, and turned to find Romelle leaning against the doorframe.

"Crisis at the office?" she asked, head canted to the side.

Allura rushed by her. "Yes. No time to explain."

She had never before gotten ready for work so quickly. She grabbed the simplest pair of slacks and a blouse, threw her hair into a ponytail, did a quick sweep of eye makeup, and only bothered to grab her earrings and a necklace on her way back downstairs. She snatched a pair of flats from the shoe closet she kept near the door to her garage and did not stop running even as she struggled to pull them on.

She had not noticed Romelle following her around as she got ready until she was climbing into her car. Her cousin waved at her from the door and hollered, "Call me if you need another wine night."

She hoped the situation was not so dire. It was bad enough that she had taken time off that morning, she could not wallow in her little defeats. She had to face them head on, sober minded.

As promised, she tore into Voltron's parking lot just past eleven and sprinted to her office. She expected to find Coran waiting for her, perhaps even Shiro. The whole team was there, awaiting her arrival.

"Why is everyone in my office?" she snapped while storming to her desk. "Do you still not have any work to do?"

"It's kind of hard to do any work when Coran's screaming  _'Emergency! Emergency! It's a bloomin' emergency!'_ We can't even hear ourselves think with that racket," Lance said, his attempt at mimicking Coran's speech falling terribly short.

"You were actually trying to think?" Keith asked from his perch by the video call screen.

"Shut up, Keith," Lance shot back.

"Both of you shut up!" Allura yelled before they could start bickering again. "And get out!"

"But… we kind of want to know what's going on?" Hunk urged with an innocent smile. She glared at him and he faltered. "Or not. Totally not important for us to know. I'm sure… Yeah… We should… Uhhh… Pidge… There was a thing we needed to do, right? Something… Mechanical? That… is not in here? Right?"

"Uhh… sure?" Pidge cocked her head to the side. "But, I still want to know what the screaming is all about."

Allura slumped over her desk with a sigh. "I have been trying to secure ownership of a factory in Marrakesh that once ran under a Galra contract. The buyout was all but certain… Except this morning we learned that they decided to go in another direction."

"Mr. Puig is expecting your call at any minute, Allura," Coran said. "Do you think we can salvage this?"

"I don't know. If…" Allura grimaced. "If the option they took is the one I believe… Then we will have to look elsewhere."

She knew Coran understood by his own uncomfortable glower. Her nerves were frayed; she feared that this truly was the worst-case scenario.

"I would appreciate a little privacy for this call," she said to the others. "But… if you insist on hearing this, just be quiet."

Everyone nodded in agreement. Hunk even pursed his lips to promise his silence.

She shook away her anxiety and pulled the phone closer, setting it to speaker so everyone could hear. Coran handed her the number for Puig's main office, and she quickly dialed it up.

"Hello, Mr. Puig?" Allura greeted after the secretary put her on hold for ten minutes before finally transferring her to the owner. "This is Allura Altea."

"Ah, yes, Miss Altea. I was expecting your call," he responded sounding far too nervous. "I trust you got the email. I am very sorry we could not come to an agreement."

"Yes, about that…" She took a deep breath and plastered on a fake smile even though he could not see it. "I know it is not very proper of me to ask, but I must know what changed? None of the other offers you had provided you with the security you need, and the monetary aspect was far above anything you could have hoped for from the rest. I cannot imagine you choosing differently."

"Ahhh, well…" He cleared his throat. "I had thought the same but… I was pleasantly surprised when Galra reached out to renegotiate late last night. We finalized everything this morning."

Her heart sank. It was exactly as she feared.

"Galra?" Her voice sounded unnaturally high, but she pushed on. "Did… Please, forgive me for my incessant questioning, but did they… Did Zarkon send someone to intimidate you? Because if he did…"

"No! No, no, no… It was nothing like that," Mr. Puig rushed to assure, though he did not sound as confidant as she would like. "Ahhh… It was actually… Well…" A nervous chuckle. "It is hard to turn down Zarkon's son when he comes in person to offer a new contract and assurances that all our security problems would be taken care of."

"I'm sorry… Did you just say… Zarkon's son?" Her throat tightened as she sat on the edge of her seat. She could feel the air leave the room as the others stared at her, wide-eyed with anticipation.

"Yes. Ahhh… Quite the amicable fellow… Very persuasive. Polite… Really, he made an offer I absolutely could not refuse."

"I'm sorry… I'm… I'm still trying to get my head around this… You mean to say,  _Lotor Daibazaal_  met with you last night?"

"Yes, he got in quite late, but was kind enough to forward a proposal before he left England. We signed it a few hours ago, and he was off again."

She had stopped listening at that point, too busy digging through her purse for her cell phone. Her hands shook as she pulled up her texts and quickly typed up her message.

"Well, I am sorry to lose this opportunity with you," Allura managed to say while reigning in her thinned temper. "I wish you well in your new contract, and  _please_  do not hesitate to reach out if anything changes again in the future."

"Of course, Ms. Altea. Thank you for your offer."

She hung up before he could continue with any further pleasantries, while also slamming her thumb down on  _send._

' _I'm afraid I must cancel our plans for Saturday,'_  she wrote to Lotor.

"Allura?" Coran asked hesitantly as she glared at her cellphone. "Is… Is everything all right? You're… you're looking a bit… uhhh… flushed."

"Everything's fine, Coran," she said through her teeth as she tried to grin.

And then Lotor texted back.  _'Next weekend, then?'_

' _No,'_  she wrote back. She would not elaborate.  _Could not_. She would write out some long tirade filled with obscenities that would make a sailor blush. There was absolutely no way she could see him that weekend or any other. Not if he was helping his father interfere with her work.

She slammed her phone onto her desk and turned to the see the others staring at her. Their faces showed varying degrees of horror and alarm. Even Shiro leaned away from her desk and glanced toward the door.

"You sure you're okay? Hm?" Coran asked again, his voice unnaturally high pitched.

"I'm. Fine," she growled.

"Uhh, you look more pissed off than fine," Pidge pointed out just as Allura's cell rang.

She glanced down to see Lotor's name flash. "I'm not pissed," she said as she swiped to ignore the call.

The others did not appear to believe her as they shared wary glances. Lotor called back. She ignored him again. Her employees made some sort of humming, nervous sound. If they were so frightened of her, then they could just leave.

"If you would be so kind…" She began to hint that they get the hell out of her office but fell silent when her video screen popped on without her direction.

"Allura," Lotor's voice called out to her as his face appeared. His long hair was tied back, looking clean and crisp with his dark suit. He hardly looked like a man who had just flown in from Morocco. She hated how it made her stomach flip and her breath catch. She was too angry to appreciate how handsome he was now.

His sudden appearance startled poor Keith enough to send the man toppling to the floor with a yelp.

"How did you get access to this interface?" she shouted at the screen while Keith crawled to the other side of her desk. Shiro held out a hand to help him to his feet, where he brushed himself off and pretended that he had not just unceremoniously fallen on his backside.

"You're angry with me," Lotor said, his tone genuinely surprised.

"I am bloody well furious!" She slammed a hand onto her desk as she shot to her feet and snarled at the screen. "Now tell me how you gained access to my company's interface!"

Lotor sighed. "Really, Allura? My mother helped your father develop the early technology for it, and Galra's resources are deep enough to higher skilled hackers. It is not that hard. Though, kudos to your cyber security team. It took Narti a full minute longer than normal to infiltrate your system."

Allura turned to glare at Pidge.

"On it!" Pidge called out, practically leaping over her desk to get on her computer.

"Please, Allura, will you just tell me what has you so incensed that you would cancel our plans so suddenly," Lotor pushed.

"Plans, Allura?" Coran asked.

Her face felt like it was on fire, but she ignored Coran in favor of glaring at Lotor.

"You know perfectly well why I am canceling," she shouted. An immaculately groomed white brow arched on the monitor, silently bidding her to explain. "Puig!"

Lotor's lips parted as realization dawned on him. "Ah. I do not understand what that has to do with our date."

"Date!?" Coran screeched behind her.

"It was not a date," she yelled. "Drinks with an old friend! Nothing more than that! And do not play dumb with me, Lotor. You know I cannot possibly visit with you after you interfered with my buyout!"

He rolled his eyes at her and she never wanted to smack someone so much. "You are taking this much too personally." She scoffed at him, and he narrowed his eyes in turn. "The Puig contract was merely business. My decision was meant to maintain Galra's stability while I am temporarily in charge. There was no malicious intent."

"No malicious intent!? You purposefully sabotaged me! Just as your father would have done," she snapped. "I am sure he is  _quite_  proud."

Lotor's visage darkened considerably. She heard Coran suck in a sharp breath and could practically feel his gaze bore into her with a silent warning. She ignored him.

"I divorced myself from sentiment in this decision because I knew it was the best solution for all parties involved," Lotor said, his words slow and dripping with a chill that would warn a lesser person to tread lightly. "Surely  _your father_  taught you that sometimes you must ignore old sentiments to do what is best for your company."

She crossed her arms and glared. "Sentiment? Best solution? Do not kid yourself, Lotor. We all know how Galra operates. We all know how this feud has played out for  _decades_. Anything Altea does, Galra moves in opposition."

"And vice versa," he interrupted, a subtle growl lacing his tone. "Please spare me your self-pity, Allura. It does not become you."

Her arms fell to her side as she gasped in offense. "Self-pity!?"

Lotor waved off her alarm. "As I was saying, my offer was the ideal one and if you stopped looking at it as though it were a calculated strike against you, you would see that."

"It  _is_  a calculated strike! Everything your bloody family does is a calculated strike!"

"This offer spares lives, Allura," he all but shouted at her. She leaned back in surprise as his lip curled, his temper dangerously thin now. "Puig was a Galra factory in the first place.  _You_  intended to steal it up as soon as our holding appeared  _weak_. If anyone is guilty of making a calculated maneuver against a personal foe, it is  _you_."

She scoffed again, but he was not finished.

"If you had bought the factory, Galra backed mercenaries would have attacked any and all shipments that leave it, they would attack workers, anyone who so much as blinks in the factory's direction."

"Which is why we offered Altea's security – "

"That would have done nothing but given them more targets," he interrupted. "You would be wasting the lives of your own people. You would gain  _nothing_  from that factory. My father would see to that."

He had a point and she hated it.

"Maintaining the status quo in this instance means no lives are lost," Lotor said.

"The status quo sees those workers living on slave wages  _at best_ ," she argued. "I cannot imagine the contract you renegotiated being any better than that. You have doomed those people to suffer."

"Oh, please, your self-righteousness sounds like a poor excuse to remain angry with me. You know I am correct."

"I know you are a dodgy arse-monger," she hissed, sneering.

Lotor's eyes widened in shock.

"What did she just call him?" she heard Lance whisper to Coran.

"You are a lousy blighter, Lotor."

"Have you gone utterly daft, woman? I expected better from you than this… Acting like a barmy twit. You are behaving like a spoiled brat throwing a tantrum because she did not get her way."

"What does barmy mean?" Lance whispered. "It's bad, right?"

"And you would know very well what that is like," she shot back at Lotor, ignoring the commentary behind her.

"Oh no, do not –"

"You destroyed my castle!"

"I was five!"

"All because I took the last strawberry popsicle!"

"You could have shared!"

"I should have listened to Romelle when she warned me about you – "

"Romelle? How does that woman have  _anything_  to do with this?"

"She was right! You probably ran into me at the café on purpose!"

"How could I have even known you were going to be there? I am not a clairvoyant!"

"You said it yourself, Galra has resources! You probably put a spy on me!"

"I did no such thing!"

"What are you up to, Lotor? Were you hoping to seduce me so you could get your hands on Voltron for your father?"

"Seduce? Seduce!? Are you mad, woman?  _You_  gave  _me_  your number! Of your own free will, I might add. Completely unsolicited!"

"Just as you planned!"

"How could I plan that!?"

"I've got it," Pidge called out.

"About bloody time," she hissed. "It has been a  _pleasure_ , Lotor…"

"Allura! Do not hang up on me!"

She plastered on a fake smile and waved with a cheerful, "Au revoir," and then flipped him off. "Slag."

"Allura!" he shouted just as the feed went black.

" _Do not_  let him reconnect," she ordered Pidge as she stormed toward the door. "I do not care  _what_  you have to do, just do not let me see his wretched face again!"

"Got it, boss," Pidge yelled after her.

"Allura, where are you going?" Coran shouted from the door. "We have  _much_  to discuss after that call, missy!"

"Later! I'm going to the gym," she called back. "I feel an urge to  _hit_  something."

* * *

"Allura!" Lotor hollered at the blank screen. "Damn it! Narti! Get her back."

Narti's fingers flew over her keyboard as Lotor paced in front of the monitor. He had never been so furious with someone. That woman dares to play victim and compare him to his father, as though she did not know how much that would hurt. And what was she on about with the thought he meant to seduce her? He wanted to wring her neck and shake some sense into her.

He knew she would not be happy when she learned about Puig, but he had hoped that she could see reason. Their fathers may be bickering like petty children, but that did not mean they had to resort to their hostility. It seemed he was wrong. Allura was just as bitter and spiteful as the rest of them.

"Narti," he growled when the feed remained black.

She raised her arms in a shrug and shook her head.

"Keep on it," he ordered.

"Uhh, so, I guess this means no date," Ezor whispered to Zethrid.

Lotor ceased his pacing to glare at the women on the couch. " _Out_.  _Now._ " He waved toward the door. "All of you. Except Narti. I want you all out."

"Geez, someone's in a bad mood," Ezor said with a grimace as she hopped off the back of the couch.

"Piss off," Lotor snapped at her.

That got her moving. Ezor hurried for the door. Zethrid trailed behind muttering something about knickers being in a twist. He should fire them for their witless commentary.

Lotor moved to stand at the window as he waited for Acxa to leave. He straightened his back and clasped his hands behind him, squeezing them until his nails pricked his flesh in a vain attempt to soothe his ire.

Acxa cleared her throat, alerting him to her presence at his side. He glared at her from the corner of his eye. "What part of  _out_  do you not understand, Acxa?"

"Yes… Uh, but… May I have permission to speak frankly,  _sir_?" she asked.

He assessed the nervousness in her eyes that she tried to hide behind a stoic expression. He supposed Acxa was not one for rude comments.

"Say what you will," he said as he turned his gaze back to the window.

"Maybe… you should give her some time," she suggested. His eyes snapped back to her. "She is obviously not the little girl you knew twenty years ago."

" _Clearly_ ," he responded with a snide curl of his lip. "She's gone utterly  _daft._  She called me a  _slag!_ "

"Yes, that was…" Acxa cleared her throat, but he still caught the faint laugh she tried to bury. "A bit of a surprise." She waved her hands at his glare. A meek surrender. "But, just as she is not that little girl anymore,  _you_  are not that little boy."

His irritation vanished at what he presumed she meant.

"You have both changed over the years. You no longer know each other beyond memories that you both probably idealized after everything that happened between your fathers. She's obviously been fed stories of how vile and loathsome your family is," Acxa continued.

She did mention Romelle, though he still did not understand what she had to do with Allura's sudden anger and mistrust.

"You were raised with the same vitriolic ramblings from your father. The Alteas are supposed to be your enemies."

"Yes, it's all very Shakespearean. Doomed from the start," he said with a roll of his eyes.

"What would you think if Allura orchestrated a plot that prevented you from attaining something you desired for your business?" Acxa asked.

"It was hardly a plot, and as I said, it was not personal," he argued.

"From  _your_  perspective, it is not, but put yourself in her shoes. Would you not wonder if she purposefully interfered with your business out of contempt bred by a family grudge?"

Lotor hissed. He would likely question her intentions.

"My father would have done worse," he still insisted. "He would have allowed her to buy the factory and then sent his mercenaries in to destroy it. Her employees would be slaughtered, the building demolished. Her finances would be crippled because of the compensation she would have to give to grieving families, not to mention rebuilding. And once she was back up and running, he would see that everyone was too afraid to work for her. He would poison her name across the globe."

"Yes, that is true, and given time, Allura might realize that and see that she reacted harshly toward you," Acxa said. "She does not know what you are doing here. She does not know your motives, your intentions – none of it. Give her time. If you believe she can still be a true friend to you, just as she once was, let her come to terms with the fact that you both have changed, and then show her the man you have become.  _Despite_  your father's attempts to groom you into a tyrant."

"Tsh, I hate when you make sense."

"No, you do not. You just hate it because you want to stew in your anger."

"I  _really_  do. She called me a slag. At least let me be angry about it. I never knew her to be so crass."

"Well, if she was running around calling people slag when she was six, I would wonder about her upbringing," Acxa said as she idly scrolled through her phone. "And I'm certain you already know this, but she was captain of her rugby team at uni, and she played lacrosse for a time." She turned her phone around to show an old newspaper photo of Allura with a lacrosse stick, slamming into a girl twice her size with enough force to knock her flat. He knew that she had played rugby. He saw an article on it while searching for reports on a fencing opponent before a match. He had not been aware of her time on the lacrosse team, however. "She's a  _much_  tougher woman than you would expect."

"She has always been tough," he huffed. "She was perfectly willing to take up a sword and battle the dragon when we were children. She did not always play damsel in distress."

"I have no idea what story you are referring to, but I believe you. Besides, Allura was angry, I think we can say her language was excusable under the circumstances. I doubt she would use such vulgarities in day to day life."

He heaved a long sigh. "I suppose I should send a peace offering. Apologize… Though I did nothing wrong, mind you."

"Of course, sir." Acxa nodded, but her expression had turned too hard for him to tell if she meant it, or if she did believe he had done something wrong.

"Would she even accept a token of apology?" he mused.

"She might…" Acxa looked away in a futile attempt to hide her grimace.

"You mean she might give me the finger and call me a slag again."

"She might call you a wanker next time. A bugger. A chuffer. Maybe a trollop. She could get creative, too. She seems the sort who would."

He gaped. "Are you… Is that meant to be a jest? Are you joking right now? Who are you and what have you done with my Acxa?"

Acxa cleared her throat and failed to hide her smile. "Of course…. Though…" She shrugged. "She very well could come up with a worse insult if the apology is not well received."

He slumped against the window and pressed his fingers to his eyes, groaning at the turn of events he had not anticipated.  _Just as London was beginning to feel like home again_ , he thought to himself.

"It will have to be something she can not refuse…" He let out another sigh and straightened as an idea came to him. "Get those bloody idiots back in here. I have an errand for them to run."


	4. No Going Back

“How’s that, Shiro?”

Shiro grunted as he pulled himself up, brought his chin over the bar, and held himself there. “Good,” he struggled to say. “Grip is better. Could use a bit more flexibility in the wrist.”

He lowered himself, letting go of the bar to fall the last few inches, and held his right arm out for her to modify the settings on his prosthetic. Romelle handed him a towel and bottle of water at his other side, which he took with a polite smile and nod of thanks.

It was a normal Saturday morning for her, save for Romelle’s presence. Two hours in Altea’s biotech department, watching Shiro exercise while she and Coran ran diagnostics on his arm, made minor adjustments where necessary, and sent off the results to the biotech team to put it toward newer models. That day, it was mostly a tune-up of a sort, nothing major to be fixed. Joints needed adjustment and the programming that translated Shiro’s neurological impulses and commands into electrical ones had a few bugs that were easily remedied, but otherwise, nothing out of the ordinary.

“Honestly, sometimes I swear this arm is better than the original,” Shiro joked as he flexed the white and black fingers. “Doesn’t fatigue like my other one.”

Allura chuckled as she moved behind him to prod at his trapezius. “Has it put any extra strain on your shoulders, though?”

“Not as much as it first did. Feels pretty seamless to me now.”

She hummed as she walked around him, observed the way his pectorals flexed. No sign of strain, no twitches, no unnatural jumps in the muscle.

“Any shocking issues? Feedback? Phantom pain?”

Shiro hummed, staring at his arm. “Phantom pain hasn’t been an issue. Sometimes it feels like it runs a little hot around the deltoid coupling but hasn’t shocked me since the initial trials.”

“Good. We’ll see about fabricating a better cooling system. I have you scheduled for a full physical next week. We’ll make the adjustments to the arm then and check the tissue for any sign of burning.”

“Sounds good to me.”

“Any other quirks you can think of?”

“Nope… Oh, wait. The pinky finger got stuck once last week. I got it moving again on my own, hasn’t been an issue since.”

“Hmm, then when we make the changes next week, I’ll see if there’s something lodged in the brackets. Might just be a bit of dust, but don’t want to ignore it if its corroding.”

Shiro was about to respond when the glass door to the office flew open to reveal an excited Pidge shouting, “I found Shiro,” down the hall.

Allura sighed as her team bound into the therapy room, all wearing grins, or what she assumed passed for a grin in Keith’s case.

“What are you all doing here?” she asked as she set her tablet on a desk where Coran had been entering the results of their earlier strength tests.

“I told them to meet me here,” Shiro explained. “They’ve been dying to have a tourist day in London and begged for me to show them around.”

“Yeah, we’ve got a whole list going. Pidge, show her the list,” Lance said before his gaze swept to Romelle who hovered beside her. “And who is _this_ gorgeous woman?”

Allura rolled her eyes as he slid up to her cousin wearing the same flirtatious smirk he had on when she first met him. “Lance, this is my cousin Romelle. Romelle, this is the rest of my team at Voltron. Lance, Pidge, Hunk, and Keith.”

“Just ignore Lance,” Pidge added as she came over to show Allura the list of tourist spots on her phone.

“Hey,” Lance shouted before turning his attention back to Romelle. His smile returned as he held his hand out to her. “So… Allura’s cousin… Your dad must have been a boxer, because you’re a total knock-out.”

Everyone groaned and rolled their eyes, while Romelle cocked her head to the side, eyes narrowed on Lance. “No, but he was an admiral in the Navy and is currently serving time in prison for drug trafficking.”

Lance’s grin fell away. “Ahhhh…”

Hunk doubled over laughing. “Oh my god! That is the worst luck I think you’ve had with a bad pick-up line! You’re lucky her dad isn’t dead… Oh man… That would suck so much!”

“Oh, before you think to do one about my brother, you should probably know my brother died because of my father’s smuggling operation, so… best avoid family,” Romelle advised with a forced smile.

“Um, yeah… Sorry,” Lance muttered, hanging his head.

“As Pidge said, it is best to ignore Lance,” Allura said. “He hit on me when we first met, too.” She turned to smile at the obviously uncomfortable man. “And, need I remind you of the sexual harassment policy, Lance? It does extend to Altea employees, after all.”

He cleared his throat and nodded.

“He has a good heart... I’m sure…” Allura added. “Now, let’s see where you all want to visit today…” She took Pidge’s phone to scroll through the list. They were all the standard tourist spots. Big Ben. Buckingham. The Eye. Tower Bridge. “Oh, you should do The London Dungeon,” she suggested.

“No!” Hunk screamed. “No way!”

“What? It’s so much fun!” Allura argued.

“It absolutely is. Bloody hilarious, too,” Romelle added.

“We’ve been trying to convince Hunk to do it all morning,” Lance said. “He’s chickening out on us.”

“It’s supposed to be scary,” Hunk argued.

“It’s a fun sort of scary. Trust me, I hate scary things, but this is one of those things where you scream your head off, and then laugh about it over pints later,” Romelle assured. “And there are points in the show where you’ll piss yourself laughing. It’s all in good fun.”

“Come on, Hunk,” Lance pleaded. “We’ll hold your hand when you get scared.”

“Yeah, we got your back,” Pidge added. “Just remember, they’re actors and it’s all special effects. Nothing will hurt you.”

“Nothing will hurt me, but it’ll still scare me,” Hunk tried to explain. “Flashing lights. Smoke. Random people jumping out and screaming in my face. I don’t know what else… but I can only imagine it’s bad. Horrible. Terrifying. I’ll have nightmares for weeks.”

“Oh, I know. Think of it as an opportunity to bond with your team,” Allura said. “You’re all planning to spend the day together, so take the chance to push your limits and rely on your teammates for support when it feels like too much.”

“That’s a great idea,” Lance cheered.

“You’re only agreeing with her to get your way,” Hunk accused.

“No, I agree with Allura,” Shiro chimed in. “I had already planned to use this day as a way to get you all working together.”

“You mean to get Keith and Lance to stop bickering,” Pidge said.

“To get _all_ of you to stop bickering,” Shiro said with a flat glare. “Yes, those two butt heads the most, but you all are guilty of it to some degree. You’re running independent departments, but you need to rely on each other, listen to each other’s ideas, and be willing to trust each other, even if you’re uncertain about their ideas.”

Hunk groaned, slumping over in defeat.

“Ooo, Allura and I can come with,” Romelle suggested, turning to grin at her. “You have nothing to do now that the date you should never have had in the first place with that demon-who-shall-not-be-named is cancelled.”

Allura glowered at her. She was going to regret confessing that to her, but she had been angry, and she knew Romelle would take her side when she vented to her about Lotor.

“Oh, yeah, you totally should,” Lance said. “We can get some insider knowledge on London from you two.”

“And we were discussing this very thing earlier,” Shiro pointed out. “We can still do the soccer thing later.”

“Soccer thing?” Keith asked.

“Romelle had mentioned putting together a lacrosse team for her division here at Altea…” Allura explained.

“I’m the head of marketing,” Romelle chirped.

“Yes… I thought it was a splendid idea but thought football… or _soccer_ would be better for you five.”

“Why not lacrosse?” Lance asked. “I’ve never played, but it sounds like fun, and we could play against Romelle’s team.”

“No!” Romelle and Coran shouted at the same time. Allura rolled her eyes.

“What? Why not?”

“I agreed to help Romelle train her team,” Allura said. “You would be playing against me.”

“And that’s a bad thing because…?” Keith cocked his head in confusion.

“Allura was captain of her rugby team for a reason,” Coran huffed while Romelle whipped out her cell phone and began searching for _something_. “You do _not_ want to play against her. Ever. Especially in a game like lacrosse.” He glanced at her, and then leaned toward the others, cupping his mouth as he whispered, “She’s terrifying,” loud enough for her to hear.

“Coran,” Allura admonished. “Really? You too?”

“Listen, Allura, I have never been prouder than the day I took you to your first All Blacks game and watched you fall in love with the sport, but since that day you’ve… Well… You’re scary when you get competitive and when the thing you get competitive playing involves physically slamming into your opponents, well…” He trailed off with a shrug.

“He’s right. Football is the safest sport to play against her, though even _that_ I would advise against,” Romelle said as she turned her phone around to show them a picture she found on her Facebook.

“Holy shit, is that Allura!?” Lance shouted as the others leaned in to see. “Why is your face all bloody!?”

Allura crossed her arms as she glanced at the picture. Her nose was a bloody mess from a break after ramming into someone on the opposing team. The girl she hit remained on the ground, rolling as their team’s doctor looked her over.

“Allura had black eyes and a broken nose after that hit. The girl was carted off with a concussion,” Romelle said. “And that was Allura playing _defense_. You do not want to get in her way when she is trying to score. She will flatten you like a bug.”

“So, then, Allura stays on our team,” Keith suggested.

“ _I_ do not want to play against her,” Romelle huffed.

“We will discuss it later.” Allura sighed. “But a day of playing tourist does sound fun. I’d be happy to join if you’ll have me.”

Hunk, Pidge, and Lance all raised their arms in a cheer.

“Well… I guess… I’ll just stay here… Finish inputting these results…” Coran cleared his throat. “Go home. Have a cup of tea. Stare at a wall.”

“You’re invited, too, Coran,” Shiro said with a quiet chuckle.

“Well, how kind of you to think of me.” Coran grinned. “I’d be delighted to join you all.”

“We’re almost done here,” Allura said. “I just need to do a few more tests on his arm’s receptors. Shouldn’t take long.”

“Can I take a look at the programing for his arm?” Pidge asked.

“Oo! I want to see the specs and design plans!” Hunk shouted.

Allura laughed. “Of course. Coran can pull everything up for you.”

The pair ran behind Coran’s desk, crowding the man as they eagerly waited for him to pull the coding and blue-prints up. Keith settled against the far wall to silently watch the last of Shiro’s tests. And Lance leaned against a table beside Romelle, his smirk returned though he did not attempt another poor pick-up line.

“So? You work in marketing?” he asked. “Are you planning to release this prosthetic to the public?”

“Yes, though admittedly I am not here for any marketing research,” Romelle explained. “Allura is still trying to make a stream-line process that would make this sort of prosthetic affordable to the general populace. As it is, this is a _very_ exclusive design.”

“Profit is not my primary concern,” Allura idly commented as she stimulated the electronic receptors in Shiro’s fingertips.

“No, of course this is not meant to be a profitable venture. It’s all about improving the quality of life for those that need a prosthesis.” She could hear Romelle’s eyes rolling. Allura would not bicker with her about it, though. Romelle had grown up in a family fixated on profit, on the thought that success could only be measured monetarily. They regularly disagreed, but Romelle had gradually come to accept that some ventures were about giving back to society, not gaining something from those in need of their technological advancements. “We still need a process that helps us break even on them. But that’s for us to discuss with the finance team.”

“If you’re not here for research, then are you hanging around to ogle Shiro?” Lance asked with a teasing nudge and grin.

Romelle snickered. “That is just a happy benefit to my purpose here.”

“She’s here to keep an eye on me,” Allura explained. “Despite my assurances that I do not need a bodyguard.”

“Not a bodyguard, but you _do_ need a sitter. You have proven that your brain goes to mush in the face of a beautiful man.”

“Please spare me the lecture, Romelle. I have learned my lesson. You do not need to worry about me.”

Romelle hummed in disbelief. “You say that now, but…”

“Is this about that Lotor guy?” Lance asked. “’Cause, we all saw that call. She was _pissed_.”

“She wasn’t _pissed_ , Lance. She was _bloody furious_ ,” Pidge interjected, mimicking a British accent at the end before snickering. “But seriously, Allura was terrifying. I don’t think you’ll have to worry about her.”

“I was not _terrifying_ ,” Allura huffed. “But yes, I was upset, and am still displeased with him. I have no desire to speak to him ever again.”

“Allura, you were absolutely terrifying,” Hunk said. “So was he. That was… probably the scariest fight I’ve ever seen, and you two weren’t even dating. _Yet._ I mean… that kind of got derailed there.” He shrunk behind Coran when she glared. “See… You’re scary right now. Stop glaring at me. I didn’t do anything.”

“You’re exaggerating, Hunk,” she said.

“Nope. Totally not. Everyone agrees. Right? You all agree. Please… please don’t let me be alone in this…”

“No, you’re scary when you’re mad,” said Pidge.

“Horrifying,” said Lance.

Coran and Romelle vigorously nodded their own agreement. She turned to look at Shiro; he shrugged and grimaced apologetically. A quick glance to Keith came with another uncomfortable look and shrug.

“Really? Am I really that terrifying?”

“Lasers could have shot out of your eyes,” Hunk said.

“Yeah, but Lotor’s eyes looked like they could freeze a whole room,” Lance said.

“You felt that chill down your spine, too?” Pidge asked.

Hunk shuddered. “If you two had been in the same room… I don’t want to imagine that fallout.”

“I agree, it would not have been pretty. They didn’t fight much as kids, but…” Coran whistled. “There was a doozy of a fight once. It was _awful._ ”

“Is this about that castle Allura brought up?” Keith asked. “He destroyed it over a popsicle?”

“It was a tantrum,” Allura insisted. “He was acting like a spoiled brat.” She noticed Coran’s awkward expression. “What? He was!”

“Allura, now, I am one-hundred-percent behind you in this latest battle of wills, but… that _tantrum_ … It had nothing to do with the popsicle, I’m afraid.” That had everyone’s attention. Coran sighed when he noticed everyone eagerly awaiting an explanation. Even Allura wanted to know his perspective. “You were hardly six years old, I don’t blame you for not remembering it all. It was a bad day and things just got worse after that.

“The mess between your parents had been growing worse and worse. The tension was spilling over. Well, the day before the castle incident, I caught you outside Alfor’s study, eavesdropping as we all talked about what to do should Zarkon resist the last offer. We couldn’t very well continue your play dates with Lotor, no matter how dear you were to each other. It was a tough situation, and you were a kid, you didn’t understand.” His lips quivered, and he looked truly ashamed. “You started crying the biggest crocodile tears. Wailing and screaming. You absolutely did not want to lose your friend. And, to quiet you down, I said that you were going to see him the next day, that I was going to play with you all day while your parents had another chat, and that everything would be fine… But…  I knew you didn’t believe me.”

He turned to the others. “Now, I want you all to understand that these two rarely fought over anything more than what to watch on the telly. They had always been quite amicable and diplomatic about their disagreements. A far cry better than their parents, I tell you. Worst fight they had by that point had been over a Halloween costume. Allura wanted to go as Wonder Woman that year. Lotor wanted to be a muppet of some sort – the exact one escapes me. Or… maybe it was some children’s cartoon character.” He waved it off. “Beside the point – they wanted to match but couldn’t agree. They huffed and sulked and glared, but that was about it. In the end, they went as muppets dressed as superheroes. Absolutely adorable.”

He cleared his throat. “Anyway, that’s the sort of fights we had all grown to expect from them. Nothing ugly. But that day… Allura was still upset, she knew things were changing, and when Lotor showed up, it was obvious that it wasn’t going to get better.” Coran paused to twist his mustache, obviously uncomfortable with the rest of the story. After a long moment, he let out a sigh. “He showed up on Alfor’s doorstep with a right nasty bruise on his cheek. I had never seen flesh turn so purple.

“He was _so_ quiet. Withdrawn. He wouldn’t even look Allura in the eye, and she seemed to sense that something was off. She tried to put on a happy face, but… Even if you were just kids, didn’t quite understand everything… You _knew_. Somewhere in your heart, you knew…”

“He said he got that bruise at football practice,” Allura said quietly, faint wisps of memory returning that she hadn’t wanted to bring back.

Coran winced. “I suppose you would rather believe that lie.”

“Zarkon?” Keith asked.

Coran shrugged. “Never could get the full story out of them, but that’s what we’ve all assumed over the years. Zarkon has always been…. _Controlling_. His perspective on things could be strict, unyielding. Before the addiction took hold, I have no doubt he would have been a good father, albeit a strict one with high expectations for his son. After he lost himself… Well… It brought the worst out of him. His temper was terrifying. Whole reason Alfor finally ceased in person negotiations. There would be no middle ground had, Zarkon would never bend.”

Another pause, a sad sigh, and then Coran continued. “Lotor had always seemed a very independent and imaginative child. He’s more like his mother, to be honest. A willful child and a controlling father is not a good mix in such an extreme situation.”

“So, what happened with the castle?” Hunk asked when Coran fell silent again.

“Right, the castle. Well, the kids were tense and uncomfortable all morning, but I thought they were warming back up to each other when they started playing with Allura’s castle. It was this beautiful doll house my grandfather built back when Alfor and I were kids. He took so much pride on the castle, teaching us every little nuance and trick he used to make the buttresses just so, and decorated with beautiful blue crystals and white paint. Had five towers, each with a lioness on the turret. It was the Castle of Lions, we called it, and when Alfor found out he was having a girl, he dug it out of storage, dusted it off, we gave it a fresh coat of white paint, fixed colored jewels to the lions, and had it ready just as Melenor was going into labor.” Coran chuckled. “A princess needs a proper castle, after all.

“Anyway, it was a warm summer day, so I got some popsicles out for the kids…. And that was when all hell broke loose. Oh, I should have known when there was only one strawberry left. They both favor strawberry, though Lotor sometimes would settle with grape in a situation like this. He always let Allura have her favorite, and usually Allura would break her strawberry in half, let him have some of it, and he’d give her half his grape. As I said, these two were usually so diplomatic, it was adorable.”

“But not that day,” Pidge said.

“Nope. They were too tense, too upset, too uncertain. Lotor wanted strawberry and Allura just did not want to share like normal, and Lotor got extremely upset instead of accepting a grape one. Tears, screaming, whole five-year-old meltdown, and when he went to reach for Allura’s popsicle, well…” Coran flinched. “She… well… pushed him away. Harder than she might have intended, not sure on that… he fell on his bum… screaming got worse. Allura joined in with the crying when her popsicle fell to the floor in the scuffle. And while I was distracted by her, Lotor ran off and next thing I heard was shouting and shattering wood.” He rubbed his hand over his face. “It was demolished and Allura… Her fury the other day was nothing compared to her anger that day. She struck him. _Hard_. Right on that purple cheek of his.”

He let out a long breath and the room turned deathly silent. Allura felt like shrinking in on herself. She didn’t remember that happening, but she knew Coran would not lie about something like that. Shame washed over her, and she hung her head as tears pricked her eyes.

“Lotor shut down after that. He found a corner and sat there until Dayak came to pick him up. Didn’t make another peep, even when I tried to coax him out. Allura had run off to her room to cry, didn’t want to talk to him at all, didn’t even want to talk to me. And then… That was it. They never saw each other again. Alfor thought it best to separate them. His deteriorating relationship with Zarkon had obviously made it too hard on the kids to remain friends. Even if they cared for each other, that bond had grown strained because of the tension between the families. We all thought it was for the best.”

“Oh…” Allura took a step back as she realized that she had played a part in destroying her own friendship. Her eyes burned, and she barely registered the numbness creeping into her legs until she felt Shiro’s arm grasp hers. She blinked up at him, somehow managed a smile as he helped lower her onto a chair Keith had rushed over. “It… it was my fault…”

“Now, princess,” Coran said. “You were a child. _Both_ of you were. It was an unfortunate event that would never have occurred if your fathers had remained civil. Do not blame yourself. It was moving in that direction and you both sensed it… The fight was a symptom of a greater problem, not the cause of it.”

“Still… I… I could have shared…”

Coran hummed in agreement.

“Perhaps I was a bit harsh on him the other day…”

“No!” Romelle shouted. “As a child, _yes_ , that was quite harsh of you, but what he just did with Puig – you have every right to be upset with him. He purposefully stole that factory back for them. He may have been your friend once, but he absolutely _is not_ your friend anymore. He is _aiding_ his father. Despite how horrible Zarkon is, he is still working for him and continuing the decades long feud with his _business decision_. Pompous, arrogant ass trying to claim it wasn’t personal. We all know it was personal. It is always personal with that family. To claim otherwise is bullocks. Do not feel bad about calling him out on that bald-faced lie. He showed his true colors and you had best remember that if he tries to weasel his way back into your life again. Toss that bloody wanker on his arse if you have to, just do not let him charm you into forgetting that his family loathes ours and will do anything to destroy us.”

She pouted as Romelle grasped her shoulders and crouched in front of her.

“You made the right decision telling him off,” she assured. “He was an innocent little boy once, but he’s grown up into a lying snake and you are better off without him.”

Her heart broke at her cousin’s words. It felt like she was losing him all over again.

Romelle forced a smile, gave her a gentle shake. “Now then, cheer up. Let’s go have fun watching the Yanks play tourist, have a few pints, and then we can go home and have an _Ab Fab_ marathon.”

“ _Ab Fab_?” She glowered. “Really, Romelle?”

“Poor taste?” Romelle winced.

“ _Quite!_ ”

“So, I suppose _Shameless_ is out, too?”

“Ours or the Americans' – No, wait, does not matter. _Yes_ that is out!”

Romelle huffed. “Does it really have to be Star Trek?” she whined.

“It can be the new movies. You can drool over another Chris.”

“Well, when you put it that way…”

“Movie marathon?” Lance chimed in. “Can we come over and watch, too?”

“Oh no…” Allura muttered.

“Absolutely!” Romelle cheered. “The more the merrier! Allura has plenty of space, too. You can all stay the night. It can be like a slumber party.”

“Do not invite other people into my home, Romelle.”

Her cousin shushed her. “Don’t be a bore. You can do with some fun.”

“I’ll cook, if that makes you feel better,” Hunk offered.

After the lunch she had the other day, that made it sound far more appealing.

“Breakfast, too,” Romelle said before Allura could even think of a reason to refuse. “ _Please._ I beg of you. Do not let me eat her eggs again.”

Allura shoved her away, but she was smiling again. “I would be delighted with the company.”

* * *

 

By Sunday morning, she was no longer delighted by her houseguests.

Saturday afternoon had been enjoyable enough. They all had a good chuckle after Hunk and Lance both screamed their way through the dungeon tour. Keith nearly punched an actor, but fortunately Shiro grabbed his arm before he could deck the man that appeared in front of his chair after the room had been plunged into darkness.

They had lunch at a restaurant just off the Thames, near the Tower of London, unwound with a round of drinks and good food. They visited the Tower, and then walked the bridge, swung back around to Borough Market, crossed back over the London Bridge, walked to Piccadilly, Trafalgar Square, St James’s Park, Green Park, Hyde Park, and ended at the palace. They were all exhausted from the walking, but her house was not far from the palace and that knowledge got her team excited again.

“It’s a mansion!” Lance and Hunk shouted as she let them in through the ground floor entry.

The two men and Pidge vanished shortly after. She heard them clomp around the house, excitedly shouting about one discovery or another.

“She has a theater room!”

“How many kitchens do you need?”

“An elevator! There’s an elevator, you guys!”

“There’s a sauna in the gym!”

“Her closet is bigger than my bedroom!”

“Lance! Get out of Allura’s closet!”

She gratefully accepted the glass of wine Romelle held out to her and did not look back once.

She gave a proper tour, explained the extra kitchen in the lower ground floor was part of her father’s suite – an addition he insisted on so that he wouldn’t get in her way when he needed to stay in the city. She showed them the five additional bedrooms, the four baths, the juice bar just off the gym that had been a third kitchen, the three reception rooms, the formal dining room, the terrace off her bedroom with a view of the park, and then back down to the main kitchen where Hunk embraced the double ovens, muttering, “You’re wasted on her, but I’ll treat you right.”

They settled in the theater room after a dinner that left them all in a food coma. She had never seen Romelle so happy after a meal. She even mentioned transferring to Voltron just for the food.

The decision on what to watch wasn’t as simple as she had hoped it would be after Pidge and Lance saw her extensive science fiction collection. There was a debate about which _Star Trek_ series was the best, another argument about _Star Wars_ , a discussion on Asimov which somehow led into a discussion on Le Guin and Tolkien before they somehow settled on watching _Lord of the Rings_ after they all lamented the limited selection of space elves in sci fi. Vulcans did not count.

They fell asleep strewn about the theater room somewhere near four in the morning. The doorbell woke them near nine.

“What is that ungodly noise?” Romelle mumbled where she curled up in her recliner. Her hair was a messy nest of blonde braids after she insisted that they do each other’s hair as they started the second movie. Allura’s hair was three different styles – a knot of braids, a ponytail, and a string of fluffy balls that bounced every time she moved her head. The hairstyles were a mess to begin with, but after a few hours of awkward sleep on leather recliners, it was going to be a nightmare untangling them.

The doorbell rang again, followed by a chorus of groans.

“Make it stop,” Hunk whined from his spot on the floor, burying himself beneath a blanket. “Too early.”

“They’ll go away…” Allura reasoned before the bell rang yet again.

“We’re sleeping,” Keith shouted as though anyone could hear him from the basement.

“Shut up,” Lance yelled back as he chucked a pillow across the room.

“You shut up, too, Lance,” Pidge chimed in with another pillow thrown.

“Everyone shut up,” Shiro muttered from somewhere in the back. He was lost within a nest of pillows and blankets.

“Just ignore it…” Allura insisted. She waited for a second to listen if they would ring the bell again. Nothing came. “See? They’re – ”

Another ring cut her off.

“Someone just go answer it!” Keith hollered.

“Fine, I’ll go,” Allura sighed and fought at her tangled blankets.

“Wait…” Romelle’s hand snapped out to grab her as the bell rang again. “What if it’s _him_? You cannot answer.”

“I doubt Lotor would pop by for a chat at nine in the morning after I called him a slag,” she said. “That would be a foolhardy venture.”

The blankets hiding Shiro moved and she just made out his white head of hair popping up. He wore an uncertain grimace. “I don’t know. He doesn’t know you’re capable of throwing a grown man across the room.”

“I would not throw him across the room, Shiro,” she huffed. “And I was not aware of the momentum I had when I threw you.”

“We were sparring, Allura. You didn’t have to throw me at all.”

The bell rang again.

“As interesting as this conversation is, will _someone_ just tell whoever is out there to go away,” Lance yelled. “And where’s Coran? He hasn’t said anything at all.”

“I think he’s sleeping in Alfor’s room,” Pidge said.

“He probably found some ear plugs, too,” Allura said with a sigh as she wrested the sheet from her legs. “I will go.” She turned to glare at Romelle. “If it is Lotor, I will slam the door in his face. Do not worry.”

Romelle didn’t look to believe her, so she wasn’t surprised when her cousin fought free of her blanket and trailed behind her. “Moral support,” she chirped in response to the flat look Allura shot her.

At the door, she peeked through the peephole to see a woman with dark blue hair tucked beneath a black ball cap, holding a gift basket in her arms. She turned to glower at Romelle hovering at her back. “It’s not him,” she whispered. “It’s a package.”

“Why didn’t they just leave it on the step?” Romelle huffed as she stepped back enough for Allura to open the door.

“Good morning… uuhhhh…” the woman greeted as soon as Allura swung the door open. Her expression was neutral but friendly enough until her eyes swept up to her hair. Her mouth gaped, and she blinked in a stupor before shaking herself out of it. “Apologies for waking you, but I have an urgent delivery for Miss Allura Altea.”

“You could have left it on the step,” Romelle repeated as she leaned over Allura to get a good look at the wrapped gift basket the woman held.

“The order specifically stated this needed to be handed to Miss Altea,” the woman explained.

Allura frowned at the pink and blue cellophane tied off with a purple bow that masked whatever was in the white basket. She glanced around the delivery woman to the non-descript dark blue lorry parked at the curb, narrowed her eyes on a figure in the passenger seat. A slender black woman with a matching black ball cap and black hoodie. She could not quite make out her features, but she looked familiar.

When she looked back at the woman on the step, she held out the package, urging her to take it. With a sigh, Allura took it, nodding politely in thanks. “Do I need to sign for it?”

“Ah, yes…” The woman fumbled for a moment to pull out a cell phone and stylus pen, held it out to show Allura a plain signature screen with some fine print about accepting a package. Suspicion tingled at the back of her neck, but she balanced the package on her hip to take the stylus and left a swooping signature. “Cheers,” the woman said as she took her phone back and turned to bound down the steps to the lorry.

“Odd…” Romelle said as they watched her jump in the driver’s seat.

“Quite…” she agreed as she shut the door and headed for the kitchen.

“So? What is it?” Romelle asked, shuffling along behind her.

“Not sure. Can’t make it out through the colored wrapping.” She tugged at the purple ribbon and tore into the cellophane. “Oh…”

“What is it? What is it?” Romelle prodded as she pushed onto her toes and peeled more of the wrapping away. “Flowers? Wait… Aren’t these?”

“Juniberry flowers.” Allura stared in confusion at the bouquet of red flowers that could only be found in one place in all of England.

Her family’s estate.

“Did your mum send you a care package?” Romelle asked as she pushed more of the cellophane aside to find four bottles of a local cider flavored with the berries from the Altea estate.

“She hasn’t sent me a care package since… Since I was in France for a summer. Why would she not send this along with my father when he brought those photos?”

“Oh! Chocolate covered strawberries! Good idea not to leave these on the step, then,” Romelle announced as she peered into a little box that had been hidden under the flowers. She held it out for Allura to see the fruit dipped in white chocolate.

Allura’s stomach flipped and she could not say if it was in delight or panic. “There should be a card here. Find the card.”

The panic in her voice got Romelle’s attention. Her excitement vanished as realization dawned on her. “Oh no… _Him!?_ ” She tossed the strawberries aside and helped her dig through the flowers and cider. They found decorative bars of floral soap and bottles of lotion. It was a standard gift basket save for the flowers and cider that could only be found in Cambridge, and the flowers could not be plucked by just anyone wandering through the field.

“What’s all the fuss up here?” Lance asked from the door as the others finally dragged themselves upstairs. “Is that a gift basket?”

“Ooo, someone sent Allura flowers!” Pidge called out before balking when she noticed their frantic search for the card. “Oh… wait… Not just any someone, huh?”

“Found it!” Romelle announce, holding up a white envelope. She held it away from Allura when she went to grab it and batted at her as she tore the card out. “Let me read it.” She cleared her throat, straightened, and then sneered before reading out the card in a mockingly deep voice. “ _’Please accept this token of my deepest, sincerest apologies, Princess.’_ Oh, how pompous that sounds. Makes me want to deck him. We might have to have another go at the punching bag, Allura. How did he get those flowers, anyway? There is no way your family would have let him anywhere near the estate.”

“What’s special about those flowers?” Hunk asked while he peeked into the box of strawberries.

“They are a unique hybrid created by Allura’s ancestors. For hundreds of years they have only ever grown at the Altea estate. No one has been able to replicate them,” Romelle explained. “And they produce these deliciously tart little berries every spring.” She snatched up a bottle of cider to hold it out to the others. “They’re a bit too tart to eat plain, but the locals in the countryside love to buy them up and use them in cakes and pies, and a brewery started using them in their ales and ciders. These seasonal brews are hard to come by, too.”

“They shouldn’t even be out for another few weeks,” Allura said as she examined a bottle. “This would be from the first batches they give to my family.”

“Soooo, Lotor snuck onto your family’s estate, stole some flowers and cider, and sent them to you as an apology for stealing a factory from you before?” Lance asked, eyes narrowed in confusion. “That’s messed up.”

“I doubt he stole them,” Allura said, though she did wonder how he got them. “The flowers, perhaps. My parents don’t hire guards or anything, it’s easy to sneak onto a far corner of the field and snip a few blooms, but… These bottles would have been in the house…”

Needing answers, she grabbed her phone and dialed up her mother.

“Good morning, mother,” she greeted, forcing a smile into her voice so as not to worry her.

“Good morning, sweetie… Oh… It’s quite early for you to be calling. Is something the matter?” her mother asked.

“No… No… Nothing’s wrong at all. I hope I’m not interrupting your breakfast or anything?” Her stomach twisted as she wondered how to ask her mother what she needed to know. How would she react? Would she panic like Romelle had? Would she get upset? Or would she not care?

“Oh, no, of course not, dear. You know you can call anytime. I was just popping some scones in to be warmed. We’re expecting the family just down the lane – You remember them? I ran into them at the market in town the other day, and we got to talking about their daughter. Didn’t you play with her a few times? Dorma. It’s been so long, I can’t keep track…”

Romelle pressed her ear against the back of Allura’s phone to eavesdrop while her mother carried on. Allura tried to bat her away, but Romelle waved right back and hissed, “Ask her already.”

“Oh! Is that Romelle I hear?” her mother interjected.

“Ah, yes, she stayed the night with me.” Allura glared at her cousin.

Romelle grinned, reaching for the phone to tilt it away from Allura’s ear. “Hi, Aunt Melie.”

“How are you doing, dear?”

“I’m doing well,” Romelle said, widening her eyes and gesturing at Allura to silently tell her to ask the question she called to ask.

“I hope you’re not getting my daughter into any trouble.”

Romelle feigned a gasp. “Absolutely not,” she said in mock offense. “I would never. If anything, I’m the one keeping her _out_ of trouble.”

Allura rolled her eyes at the not so subtle hint. “Mother,” she said, interrupting her laughter over Romelle’s comment. “I actually called because I have a question…”

“Oh… Oh, I apologize for the tangent. Please, what is it you need to ask?”

She took a deep breath, met Romelle's urgent gaze. “Has… Has Lotor popped by the house recently?”

“Lotor? Hm, no, of course not. I have not seen that boy in ages. Ah, but I heard he’s back in London. Such an unfortunate thing…”

“Unfortunate?” Allura’s eyes narrowed when Romelle suddenly looked away, lips pursed as she shifted awkwardly. “What happened?”

“Oh, you haven’t heard? His father…” Melenor sighed heavily, a touch of distaste in the sound. “Lord knows he’s done this to himself, but it’s still sad to hear his health has deteriorated so much. Another heart attack. I hope one of these days he learns from these, but… Oh, that is cruel of me to say. Please, if you happen to cross paths with Lotor or Honerva, do pass along our well wishes for Zarkon’s recovery.”

Well wishes that no one in that family likely cared to receive, at least not from any Altea.

“Of course, mother,” Allura said as she glared at Romelle. Her cousin knew that Zarkon was ill and had not thought to mention it. It would explain why Lotor had returned to London and was running the company. “But, you’re certain Lotor hasn’t been by?”

“You didn’t see a handsome man with white hair roaming the fields yesterday?” Romelle chimed in before dodging Allura’s swat.

“A handsome man with white hair?” Melenor laughed. “I suppose he is quite handsome now, but… No. Only handsome man with white hair around here is your father, and he was in his study most of the day. I think he’s planning another trip for us. He’s supposed to be slowing down, but no, the man cannot stay in one place for long, always has to whisk us away to some corner of the world we’ve never been.”

“You love those trips, mother,” Allura said with a sigh. If Lotor had not picked up the flowers, then he must have sent his assistant.

“I _do_ , but… Oh, with all the lawsuits finally coming to a close, I was just hoping your father would take some time to rest.”

“That is what he does when he travels,” she argued. “But… back to the reason I called… _No one_ you recognized came by yesterday?”

“No. No one at all. Only people that have been by… Hmmm… Oh, there was this absolutely adorable couple that was touring the countryside yesterday. Such lovely girls.”

“Girls?” Allura straightened. If the woman in the lorry was who she thought it was, then perhaps the one on the step was the other assistant Lotor mentioned. “What did they look like?”

“What did they look like? That is an odd question.”

“Well… Ahhh…” Allura stammered, she did not want to alarm her mother if she was wrong.

“If they were so adorable, we want to know what they looked like,” Romelle rushed to explain. “You know… Like those couples that look absolutely wrong for each other, but when you see them together, it suddenly makes sense… Or something like that.” She shrugged. “We’re just curious.”

“Curious, hmmm. Well, all right. I suppose this does seem like an odd couple sort of match. One was a large, hulking sort of woman. She told me her parents are wrestlers.” Melenor giggled. “Well, _had been_ , they run a gym together in the city now.”

Neither of the women that delivered the flowers were hulking in any manner. _Tall_ , certainly, but not _hulking_.

“The other girl was an American – sweet and charming as a button, I swear. She seems the fun sort. Blonde hair with all these little streaks of color. Tall and lanky… She said her mother was a choreographer back in the States. Her father had gone to university in Cambridge, that was why they were touring the countryside. They just happened to see the flowers on our estate and wanted to take a walk through them. I couldn’t say no. Not after seeing how much the big one doted on her girlfriend. It was so cute.”

“Did they pick any flowers?” Romelle asked.

“Of course. They were kind enough to ask, even offered to pay for them, but I told them not to worry about it. Helped them pick the best blooms, too. It made them so happy.”

Romelle mouthed, “Your mother was duped,” before asking, “What about the seasonal cider?” loud enough for Melenor to hear.

“The cider? Oh, yes, I told them there was a brewer nearby who used the berries in a cider. They wanted to try it, so I called him up and asked if they had a batch ready, put in a word for them to get a small tour and sampling. The beer festival is coming up, so it was perfect timing. He had a whole batch already in bottles, ready to go.”

“So, they bought some bottles?”

“I would assume they did if he offered any up for sale.” Confusion had returned to her mother’s tone. “Why do you ask? Does this have to do with Lotor? Did something happen?”

“No!” Allura rushed to say, ignoring the way Romelle rolled her eyes. “No, nothing at all. I was just… you know… Those photographs you had father bring me. I had heard that Lotor was in the country, wondered if he might have stopped by for a visit… Or… I don’t know…”

“He hasn’t been by since you were kids, Allura. You know that. If he ever decided to pop by for an unannounced visit, I’d tell you. Are you sure everything is all right? Your father said you seemed amiss that day? Oh, did we drudge up old memories? I am so sorry, I should have thought not to include those – ”

“No! No, it’s not that. I’m glad you sent them… But… well, if Lotor hasn’t been by, then I guess that’s that…” She sent Romelle a pleading look. How did she get out of this line of questioning before confessing to her mother than she had run into Lotor and then had a nasty argument with him the next day? Romelle shrugged. She was no help at all. “I… uh… I should get going. Romelle isn’t the only guest I have over today, and I’m sure they’d all appreciate some breakfast soon.”

“Oh, yes, of course. We’ll have a longer chat next time you’re out to visit. Tell Romelle that she and her brother are overdue for a visit, too.”

“Yes, I will, mother.”

“And you can talk to me if anything happens,” Melenor added, a knowing lilt in her voice that Allura could not begin to understand. “ _Anything_ at all.”

“Of course. It was lovely talking to you, mother. Tell father I said hello.”

“So?” Lance asked once she hung up, leaning over the counter with an eager expression. “Did Lotor break into your parents’ place?”

“No, but my mother said a couple of women stopped by and picked some flowers. They did not sound anything like the girls in the lorry just now.”

“He surely has more than two henchmen,” Romelle pointed out. “He has the whole of Galra at his bidding, especially now that his father is stuck in a hospital bed.”

“Yes, and why did you not tell me about Zarkon’s condition?”

“Would it have mattered?”

“It… It might have given me pause…”

“You still would have gone out on that date with him if Puig had not backed out of the sale.”

“I would not… It was _not_ a date, we were just going to have drinks and catch up.”

“And then wake up the next morning in some sleazy Vegas hotel room with a ring on your finger.” Romelle pouted. “He is after you for his father. I have no doubt about it. If Zarkon can not wrest control of Voltron through lawsuits, he will steal it by marrying his son to Altea’s heir. Then he can find a way to sink Altea while he’s at it.”

“We cannot possibly get to Vegas and marry in a single night. You are exaggerating, Romelle.”

“You can do _anything_ with Daibazaal’s resources. They are worth _billions_. They could pay off any government official to put together a legally binding marriage all while you slept off the rufie.”

“That is utter rubbish.”

“They can, and you know it.”

“It’s disgusting.”

“It’s the _Daibazaals_.”

Allura shook her head and waved off Romelle’s insistent paranoia. She may think ill of that whole family, but she doubted Lotor would do something so extreme. It would only set the families up for an all-out war, not just frivolous lawsuits and snide remarks veiled by feigned politeness.

“It doesn’t matter,” she snapped at Romelle. “I just need to figure out what to do with all this.”

“Oh! I’ll take the strawberries if you don’t want them,” Hunk shouted.

Allura snatched the box from his reach and glared. “No. I want those.” She sighed as she stared at the basket. “He picked out a gift I cannot possibly refuse.”

“The conniving prick,” Romelle muttered.

“Shush.” Another sigh. “I suppose I should at least… Let him know I received them.”

“Oh, do not give him that opening.”

“I won’t. It would just be impolite if I did not at least thank him for the thoughtful gesture, and then gently inform him that it does not change anything between us.” Allura nodded with her decision made. “Yes, that’s right. I can accept his apology, but I do not have to forgive him.”

She spun to leave the kitchen, and then froze to glare over her shoulder at Romelle. Her cousin had turned to follow her but stopped when Allura pointed in warning.

“I will make this call in private.”

“Just do not forgive him,” Romelle shouted after her as she made her escape. “He’s not worth it!”

* * *

 

Lotor could hear her shouting through his earbuds and the deafening rock music he picked for his workout. He struggled to ignore her, but Zethrid was a passionate trainer. He popped his earbud out and glared as she continued to shout.

“Feel the pain! Keep going! Don’t slow down now!”

“Really, Zethrid? I am just running on a treadmill, I do not need a cheering section for this.”

“I’m trying to keep you pumped!”

He waved his earbud. “That is what the music is for. If this was a spar or fencing match, I would greatly appreciate your passionate support, but… I am just going for a jog.”

Zethrid fell onto the bench along the wall with a sulky huff. “Boring.”

“Let him have his emo music…” Ezor said as she stared at her phone.

“It’s not emo music,” he huffed.

“Maybe not this time,” she muttered before flopping back to lay her head on her girlfriend’s lap, never once taking her eyes from her phone. “But admit it, you’re trying to distract yourself from heartbreak.”

“I am not distracting myself from anything,” he argued. “Least of all a heartbreak. It was merely drinks with an old friend.”

“Then why did you call it a date?” Zethrid pointed out.

“She was upset, and I was annoyed…” He glared forward and ran faster. “I wasn’t thinking.”

“So, you just wanted to get under skin,” Ezor said. “Bravo. You succeeded. She looked _pissed_.”

“That’s an understatement,” Zethrid said.

Lotor silently agreed as he glanced down at his phone.

“Relax, Acxa said she just pulled up to her place,” Ezor said. “She’ll call you once Allura gets the package.”

He huffed. “I was just changing the song.”

“You’re a terrible liar, boss,” Zethrid commented.

“You are,” Ezor agreed. “And if you’re waiting for Allura to call… I wouldn’t hold your breath. I doubt she’ll forgive you because you sent her flowers.”

“She does seem the stubborn type,” Zethrid remarked.

“I have no expectations, but Allura, while the obstinate sort, has also been groomed in etiquette. She will at least acknowledge the gift,” he explained.

“Yeah… Probably by flipping you off again,” Ezor said.

“You two are supposed to be on my side,” he huffed as he set his feet on the side rails to stop running and glare at his assistants. “At least I thought that was what I was paying you for.”

“Oh, we’re on your side,” Ezor assured. “Totally got your back on this, but…” She shrugged. “Just trying to keep you realistic.”

“If you want us to pretend that nothing is wrong and kiss your arse, you gotta pay us more,” Zethrid added. “Like… a lot more. Hard to pretend that girl wasn’t angry enough to toss you to the floor. Though… I would _pay_ to see that.”

“Angry-Allura is pretty hot,” Ezor said.

“Absolutely.” Zethrid nodded.

“When you’re not on the receiving end, at least,” Ezor quickly added with a grimace. “Sorry, boss.”

He grunted at the half-hearted apology and returned to his run, shutting the girls out with music. He resisted the urge to glance at his phone, but he could not help it. He was eager to hear if Allura accepted the gift. It took all his control not to jump off the treadmill as soon as Acxa’s name flashed on the screen. He forced himself to remain composed as he slowed to a walk before answering the call on speaker.

“How did it go?” he asked without greeting her.

“Well… she took the basket,” Acxa said.

“And?”

“She seemed… hungover? I definitely woke her up.”

Lotor sighed. “Lovely.”

“Oh man! You should see her hair!” Ezor called out, jumping from the bench to stand at his side. She held her phone up to show the picture Narti sent her.

His brow rose at the odd hairstyle.

“I think she spotted Narti,” Acxa commented. “She checked out the lorry. Seemed really suspicious of it all.”

He hummed as he zoomed in on the distant shot, frowning at the head of blonde hair leaning against Allura’s back. “Romelle was with her.” Whispering poisonous words in her ear, he did not doubt. “Why does that woman dislike me so much?”

“You don’t remember?” Acxa asked.

“Hm?”

“Oh boy…” Ezor chimed in. “Every girl at the office knows the story. We heard it when we started, and it was years after.”

“I can understand her resentment for my father after what happened to her father and brother, but they made the conscious decision to maintain their contract with Galra, and her brother certainly did not need to get into a fire fight with the Royal Navy.” If he had known that would be Avok’s reaction, he would have hesitated on that anonymous tip.

“She was your date to a function and you ignored her the whole night,” Ezor explained. “You seriously don’t remember?”

He narrowed his eyes in thought. “I remember my father forced me to escort her to something. I ignore any woman my father was adamant I date. They are all after his money, or a position in the company, or any number of things. They are not interested in me, so why pretend to be interested in them?”

Ezor and Zethrid glanced at each other, matching expressions of grudging agreement on their faces.

“Besides, I asked about her family. A far cry from ignoring her.”

“You asked about Allura,” Acxa said. “Not her family. _Allura_.”

“Allura is her family.”

“Oh. My. God.” Ezor groaned. “You are not this dense. You know that would piss off any girl.”

“Allura is the only person in her family I had no recent news on,” he reasoned, though he knew he was losing this argument.

“You should have just talked about the weather like a normal person.”

He hissed in contempt. “ _Small talk_.”

“Yes, we get it, you hate small talk.” Ezor rolled her eyes. “Chatting about family is small talk, too.”

“Not when I actually give a damn about the family,” he huffed. “I still do not understand why it would bother her so much. At most, it is a social faux pas, not proof that I am some hideous monster or sociopath.”

“It doesn’t matter. Romelle hates you and your whole family,” Acxa stated frankly. “And she’s there with Allura.”

“You believe my apology will not be well received, then?”

“She took the basket, but what she does after reading that card…” He could hear the shrug in Acxa’s voice.

“You did send two of your assistants to Cambridge to trick her mom into letting them pick some flowers,” Ezor pointed out.

“Her mum was really cute, though,” Zethrid chimed in. “She let us have some of the biscuits she just finished baking, too. They were delicious.”

“Oh my god, they were the best. If Allura bakes half as well as her mom, you need to make up with her,” Ezor said.

“That is what I am attempting to do,” he growled.

“Ah! Allura’s calling you! She’s calling you!” Ezor cried out suddenly, swatting his arm and pointing at his phone to show the call. “Answer it! Answer it!”

“Acxa…” he said as he grabbed his phone and let the treadmill carry him to the bottom, hopping off while he ignored the tightness gripping his chest. He should not be so anxious for a phone call.

“Good luck,” Acxa responded before hanging up.

He switched the speaker off and quickly answered. “Allura,” he greeted, sending a glare to the two women hovering expectantly at his side. “How are you this morning?”

What little hope he had sank like a lead weight in his gut at hearing her heavy sigh. This was not going to be a good conversation and the last thing he wanted was for his assistants to witness it. He pointed to the door and hardened his glare. Ezor and Zethrid pouted but turned to shuffle out to the living room of his flat, wisely shutting the door behind them.

“So… I received your gift,” Allura said, her tone uncertain and uncomfortable. “I just… wanted to… Uhhh… thank you, I suppose. It was very thoughtful…”

“But…” he prompted.

She sighed again. “ _But_ … I cannot forgive you for stealing Puig from me.”

“Well, I was not apologizing for that, I was apologizing for my behavior in the call. It was inappropriate of me to hack your line and proceed to argue with you in front of your employees, as well as my own.”

She growled but it did not sound angry, more annoyed than anything. “That _was_ inappropriate.” Another sigh. “And I suppose I should apologize for my own behavior in that regard. I said some…” She cleared her throat. “Inconsiderate things.”

“I sense another but…”

“No but… Well, not regarding that. I _am_ sorry for some of what I said.”

“Only some?”

“I… Oh, this is… this is not easy to discuss, but Coran reminded me of everything that happened… back then… with the castle.”

His mouth fell open as realization dawned on him. So, she felt guilty about that, but not her anger at the rest. “Ah,” he finally said after a moment.

“I… I had forgotten some of the details, the circumstances. It was unfair of me to bring up something from when we were children, especially without taking the… _circumstances_ into account.”

“We were children. I can safely say that I have forgotten many things from my childhood.” Out of self-preservation. If he remembered everything, he would have lost his sanity long ago. “I do not recall everything from that day, either, but I do remember my tantrum and what caused it.”

“Coran said it wasn’t the popsicle… That it likely had to do with… Ahh… the bruise on your cheek. You had said it was from football practice. I am… I am so sorry for that, Lotor.”

He eased himself down onto the bench and leaned back against the wall, sighing. “You were a child, Allura. You did not know. I harbor no grudge over that.”

“Still… I should have…”

“Do not bother yourself over an unfortunate incident that took place over twenty years ago. I appreciate the sentiments, but do not let it get to you.” His chest ached. She sounded so forlorn, so remorseful, so caring, and he still he knew that none of that mattered. “I am waiting on that last _but_ , Allura.”

“Lotor,” she said on a sigh. “I… I… I was so glad to see you the other day. It was… a pleasant rush of nostalgia. I long ago gave up hope that I would be able to see you again, least of all in such a mundane setting. Perhaps a gala or some such event, but…” She let out an errant laugh. “A coffee shop in Borough was the last place I expected to run into you. It was… _nice_.”

The tightness in his chest returned while his heart beat a staccato rhythm so loud, he almost could not hear her over the blood rushing through his ears. He curled his fingers in, pricked his palms with his nails, and then forced his hand to relax as he let out a long breath.

“ _But_ …” he prompted again.

“ _But_ ,” she continued, softer, sadder. “We… we cannot go back. There is… there is too much baggage between our families. Twenty years is a long time, Lotor. So much has changed. You are… well, you’re practically a stranger to me now.”

That stung, but he could not clear the lump in his throat to argue, not when she had a point. He could remember that she loved strawberries as a child, but did she still love them or had her tastes changed? She loved pink and blue back then, he may surmise those favorite colors had not changed because of her apparel, but perhaps that palette had expanded, too. She loved to wear flowing dresses and play princess, and she loved to pick up a sword to save her prince or her knight or the kitten in the alley being taunted by a stray dog, but she was not an idealistic young girl anymore.

He was a far cry from the boy he was then. He had to change, he had to adapt, he had to survive. The boy she once knew was but a ghost of his past. She was right. They could not go back to those days.

“I am… I am sorry, Lotor,” she said in the face of his silence. Sorry for him, or sorry for herself? Was she mourning what they lost to their parents’ bickering, or was she pitying him?

She was right. He did not know the woman she had become.

“I understand,” he said, careful to keep his tone smooth. She could not hear that the truth hurt him. “And… I agree with you.”

Allura released a long, relieved sigh.

“It was a pleasure seeing you again,” he said, forcing himself to smile even though she could not see it. He allowed himself to relax. At least she was not shouting at him, there may be hope for them yet. “I hate that it had to be spoiled by business.”

“It was bound to happen. Even if you were not leading Galra, something would have occurred to make me question your authenticity, doubt you… Oh… And, I should offer well wishes to your father – ”

“Don’t bother,” he interrupted, his tone colder than he intended.

“But – ”

“You and I both know you do not mean a word of it.”

“Lotor,” she snapped at him.

“And if, by chance, you did mean them, you know my father would only take it as an insult,” he clarified. “I do not blame you for detesting him, so please, do not kid me with your shallow condolences.”

Allura huffed. “Well… My mother still asked me to pass them along.”

“I will accept them, but I will not pass them along to anyone. It will only be a headache for me.”

She was silent for a long moment, he even had to check his phone to see that the call had not disconnected. Finally, she asked, “Have you… have you visited him?”

“No.”

“What about your mo – ”

“Allura, do not ask about my family.” He could feel his hackles rise at the mere thought of his mother. His parents were the last two people on Earth he wished to think about, let alone discuss with a woman who made it plainly clear she could not be his friend. “I… appreciate whatever noble intentions you may have asking about them, but I would appreciate it more if you dropped it.”

He could sense that his words ticked her off, or perhaps his tone. She took a deep breath and sharpened her next words.

“Fine. I suppose it would be senseless to continue, anyway. As I said…”

“We can no longer be friends,” he finished for her.

“There is too much standing between us.”

“Far too much,” he agreed.

“It would end terribly.”

“Shakespeare has nothing on us.”

That earned a laugh. Short and humorless, more a snort, but it was a sound he had not expected to hear from her.

“If he were alive, I would suggest he take notes,” she said, dry and bitter but not aimed at him.

“Well, I am sure the tabloids would have a wondrous time with the story if they had it.”

“They wouldn’t even need the full story. They would fabricate most of it.”

“That is what makes it so enjoyable for them.”

“Oh… If someone saw us in the coffee shop…”

“Not to worry, my father has paid the papers well over the years. They do not run any story about me without going through Galra. I have already silenced them.”

“No? Someone did see us?”

He hummed. “Distant, grainy cell phone picture came across my desk the other day. Can hardly see your face with the store’s signage in the way. They were set to make up a story about a tawdry affair, a broken heart, a plot to steal… Well, I’m not sure who was to steal from whom, but I think you can get the gist. My assistants are sworn to secrecy, by the way. Their very livelihoods are on the line if they speak to anyone about it.”

Allura sighed. “Oh, that is good. I really would not want this to get out. It’s enough of a bother now that Romelle knows. She hates you, by the way.”

“So I have been told. Pass along my apologies, will you? My treatment of her was not personal. I do not care for any date my father arranges for me. It is a matter of habit that I do not humor whatever interest they may have in me, should it be business or other.”

“Right… Well, I do not think she would care for your apologies, any more than you or your family care for my well wishes.”

“Touché.”

Another silent pause was followed with a sigh. “I should go. I can hear Romelle picking the lock on my study.”

He chuckled. “Yes, thank you for acknowledging my apology. And, since I will surely make more business decisions that anger you, feel free to flip me off and call me a slag again.”

“I do not regret that part of the call,” she said.

“Oh, no, do _not_ regret that.” He chuckled. “Shocked me at first, but in hindsight I find it quite comical. In fact, it almost tempts me to piss you off again. My assistants are certain that you can be more creative with your insults if you put more thought into them. It would make for an amusing sport. Our families are meant to be rivals, _enemies_ , after all. May was well enjoy the competition while I can. It’ll be a challenge. Keep me sharp.” He could not hold back his grin at her huff. “I look forward to the next time we find each other in the crosshairs.”

“Then I expect no more gifts from you since you will obviously not be sorry for anything,” she teased.

His grin widened with his laugh. “I might not be truly sorry, but I can send gifts for other reasons. Perhaps to congratulate you on your next achievement.”

“Or to rub your next victory in my face?” she suggested.

“Not a bad idea, though a bit uncouth of me to do.”

“I thought that was your intention? Send me a note saying ‘Good show’ and have me reply with some vulgar curse? To amuse you, if nothing else.”

“Well, when you put it that way…” He snorted at the thought of how she might reply. “Do you still like strawberries?”

“I do,” she said, and he could hear the smile in her voice.

“I will keep that in mind… Since I cannot send my assistants to Cambridge every few weeks to ply flowers from your family’s estate.”

“Please do.”

“The floral soaps and lotion were acceptable? Narti helped pick those out.”

“They were.” He could still hear her smile. “Thank her for me. Oh, and tell her that I saw through her disguise in the lorry.”

“I will send different couriers next time.”

“Of course, you will.”

“Is Romelle still trying to pick the lock? She is not very good at it if we have not been interrupted yet.”

Allura hummed in confusion. “Oh! I forgot all about her.” A pause while he chuckled. “I think she gave up… Though… I think she slid a note under the door.” He listened to movement on her end of the line, the rustle of paper, and then an alarmed shriek of her cousin’s name followed by “I am not!” She huffed into the line, sounding exasperated. “I should go.”

“House on fire? Or is your cousin angry that you’re talking to me?” He chuckled. “Or perhaps it’s both?”

Allura hissed. “You understand?”

“Go, before she sets your house on fire to smoke you out. Thank you for calling.”

“I’ll talk… Well, perhaps not… Uhh…”

“We’ll argue another time,” he suggested.

“ _Yes_. _That_. We will argue another time,” she said, sounding stern until her voice broke with a snort of laughter. “Goodbye, Lotor.”

“Goodbye… _Princess_.”

“Oh! Do not call me that! Not like that! You sound mocking when you say it like that!” she snapped.

He laughed openly. “Apologies, that was not my intent.”

“It was. You are teasing me.”

“Perhaps a little.”

She growled. “Good day… _Prince Lotor_.”

He did not get a chance to respond before she hung up on him, but it did not matter, not when he was doubled over, holding his stomach as he shook with laughter. Such a small thing annoyed her. He could just imagine how flustered it made her. Flushed and spluttering in embarrassment – he would have to make a note of that and do his best to prick her temper enough in person to see it for himself.

“Well, he’s laughing…” he heard Zethrid say from the door.

“Is that a good thing, or a bad thing?” Ezor asked.

He looked up to see the girls peeking in.

“He’s still grinning,” Ezor said, alarmed. “That is a terrifying grin. Are we in trouble?”

“No,” he called out. “You are not in trouble.”

Zethrid pushed the door open. “You’re in a good mood. Did she actually forgive you?”

“No, not really.”

“But you’re happy?” Ezor took a wary step into the room, eyed him uncertainly.

“I suppose I am.”

“Then… the conversation went well?”

“We didn’t hear any shouting,” Zethrid pointed out.

“Or cursing.”

“Or pleading.”

“It was a very civil conversation. We came to an understanding,” he explained.

“An understanding?” Ezor asked.

“We cannot be friends like we were,” he said.

“And… you’re happy… about that?” Zethrid’s brows furrowed in confusion. “Have you gone a bit nutty? I thought you wanted to be friends with her again?”

“I _do_.”

“But?”

He said nothing, only grinned in response.

“Okay, you’ve lost your marbles, but I’m guessing you have a plan,” Ezor said. “A crazy plan, but a plan. You always have a plan.”

“I do.”

“And?” Ezor and Zethrid asked in unison.

“ _And_ … we wait.”

“What?”

“We wait,” he said as he got up and headed to his weights. He still had to do the rest of his workout, and the activity would help him think. “When the time is right, an opportunity will present itself.”

“So… We’re winging it?” Zethrid asked.

“ _Exactly_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a whole backstory for both Zethrid and Ezor, but I can only sprinkle in bits of it. In case I don't get to all of it - Zethrid's mother is American, a black woman who was on an amateur wrestling circuit, her father is British, and she was born and raised in London. She has a really good relationship with her parents, actually. Ezor's mother is also American, a Latina woman who is a professional dancer/ choreographer. She was born and raised in the L.A. area by her mother after her parents got a divorce and her father moved back to England. She also has a really good relationship with her parents, spent her summers in England with her father, and eventually followed him into business rather than becoming a dancer like her mother. They met each other through their fathers, and Zethrid is the reason Ezor moved to England rather than remaining in the States to work for a Galra subsidiary.


	5. Everyone Needs to Have a Good Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is it corporate espionage or just gossip?

Voltron had finally begun to see some progress. It took a few weeks and a lot of arguments, but her new employees had found a comfortable system to work in. Allura had three proposals on her desk from Hunk and Pidge – two they did as individual projects, and one was a joint infrastructure idea. They all looked good, but she needed Coran to go over the numbers, and then came the task of securing additional donations for the costlier parts of their ideas.

That day she sat in a meeting with Shiro and Lance, the latter of which had said he wanted to pitch an idea of his that he hadn't quite ironed out well enough to write up. She expected that his methods would be different from Hunk and Pidge, who had experience writing out research ideas and requests to submit to professors and supervisors. Lance was more free-flow – less thought, more action – so she accepted the last-minute request for a meeting.

"Okay, so I was talking to Hunk about some of the outreach programs he volunteered with back home," Lance began, nervously pacing behind the chairs opposite her. Shiro angled his head back to watch the young man gesture as he spoke; a knowing smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "And all the programs he did were created specifically for that neighborhood and the demographic there. And then I got to thinking about your hospital program, and how you want to train people locally to operate them, rather than sending in foreign doctors."

"Voltron is not a missionary program," Allura said. "We're here for resources, to provide the support, but we do not implement programs that won't fit with individual cultures and attitudes."

Lance stopped pacing and grimaced. "I'm totally out of my league on this."

"Just keep going, Lance," Shiro said, grinning at the young man. "I know you've been thinking hard about what to do."

Lance groaned. "Right… Well, I  _was_  thinking that initially, we should look at an educational outreach program, one that's kind of a… uhhhh, cultural exchange. You want to train people locally, but we don't know what they know… Or, uh, how they do things. We should learn about them and see what technology and information they might want from us, that could help them expand on what they already know."

"I think that is a splendid idea, Lance," she said, smiling as he sagged in relief.

"You could work with Hunk and Pidge," Shiro suggested. "Their joint project involves coordinating with local governments and leaders to build information resource centers. It would make sense and be cost-effective to combine those hubs with an education and cultural outreach program like yours."

"Really?" Lance perked up. "Yeah, that does make sense."

Allura giggled at his sudden excitement. She suspected he was glad to have a reason to work with the other two. He could use their support most of all.

"I'll gather some information on Voltron's old outreach programs to help provide a guide and example," Allura offered. "In fact, I believe Sir Blaytz still has friends in some of these areas. He might be willing to provide some contacts and ideas for you."

"He ran my department before?" Lance asked.

"He did. His programs were similar to missionary types, mostly provided aid, but he had a cultural exchange program in there, as well. I'll email him later for you," she said just before a knock on her glass door distracted her. She spotted Keith as he cracked the door open to peek in, glancing uncertainly toward Shiro before glaring at Lance. "Keith, come in."

"Sorry to interrupt," he said, clearing his throat as he stepped into her office.

"We're just finishing up here… Unless you had more to your idea, Lance?"

"Lance had an idea?" Keith's brow rose in mild surprise. "I didn't know he was capable."

"Hey!" Lance shouted. "At least  _I'm_  pulling my weight around here."

Allura raised her hands in a bid for peace. "Please you two, do not start this again."

"Keith," Shiro said, a simple warning in his tone that saw Keith backing down with a short huff. When a tentative peace settled over the office again, he smiled at the two men. "Lance, was there anything else you wanted to talk about?"

"No, that was it," Lance grumbled.

"Okay, we can sit down later and go over whatever Allura can find for this," Shiro said, his smile widening. He turned that grin to Keith. "What did you need?"

"I… uh…" Keith stammered as he looked between Allura and Shiro. "I've been working on something," he said, holding out a red file as he approached her desk. "I think you need to see it."

"Oh? So, you haven't been hiding in your office brooding?" Lance teased.

"No," Keith snapped. "I've been  _working_ , unlike some people who take weeks to pitch one idea."

"Guys," Shiro shouted. "Not now."

The two backed down again, and Allura snatched the folder from Keith with a resigned sigh.

"What have you been working on Keith?" she asked as she flipped open the file.

"Well… I wasn't sure how to explain this…" he began just when she turned to find a copy of a Galra contract.

"Corporate espionage?" She gaped up at him. "You've engaged in corporate espionage?"

"Not  _exactly_ … It's mostly just intelligence gathering. I didn't do anything to sabotage them, I was just curious about that Puig contract. It didn't sit right with me," he explained.

"You know they have sources gathering information from Altea," Shiro pointed out.

"And attempting to sabotage it," Allura snapped. "We are a non-profit foundation. We will have no part in those corporate games."

"Yeah, but the Daibazaals don't see you as a neutral entity," Keith argued, leaning over to tap his finger on the file. "Lotor directly interfered with your work here. You have to take steps to protect yourself from further attacks. He, or his father, will do whatever they can to hinder this operation, no matter what they say."

Allura sighed. He had a point, but Voltron was not meant to be part of the war anymore. She was trying to help people.

"A lot of your programs are targeting areas that Zarkon has influenced," Shiro said, his tone calm and rational. "He'll see that as a personal attempt to undermine his work."

"His work is barbaric and forces people to suffer in poverty," she huffed.

"Yeah, Allura, you really can't complain about a little espionage," Lance chimed in. "This place is part of your own personal vendetta." She glared, and he immediately stepped back, hands raised in surrender. "I'm just saying, Keith and Shiro have a point. You wanted the Puig factory so that Zarkon couldn't have it."

"I had a use for it," she argued.

"What use would that be?" Keith asked. "Everything I've seen on their Galra contract says that they specialize in radio components. What do you need them for?"

"The individual components that they create can be altered to work in Altea's tech. It would be a minor transition in operation, the materials would have to change, but the basic system is similar to what we use in our medical imaging. I intended to use the factory to build a newer, more cost effective, ultrasound device, one that is streamline enough to be used by traveling doctors in remote locations."

"Oh," Keith grunted. "Still, there are other factories, and you learned about the availability of Puig  _because_  of Altea's intelligence sources. I'm just using my own sources to provide you with more information."

She sagged forward, groaning. "Fine, you have a point. What did you find?"

"Well, I wasn't expecting to find too much, but Kolivan came over for dinner at my mom's the other night, and I mentioned the failed buy out and how it didn't sit well with me, so he said he would reach out to a few friends he still has at Galra," Keith began to explain. "He's found one source that wants to remain anonymous – apparently they have high level clearance and are close to Lotor. If it got out that they gave us this, Lotor would immediately know the source of the leak."

"So, this stays between us," Shiro said, sending a quick glance to Lance who mimed zipping up his lips. "What did they give you?"

Allura pulled the file closer to read the details of the contract. "The new contract Lotor arranged… It expires in a month. That is quite short."

"Galra doesn't need the factory. Lotor did it to buy time for Puig, as well as to make various factions within the corporation content with his leadership while his father's in the hospital." Keith grabbed another paper from within the file to draw her attention to it. "There's more. Someone else just bought Puig.  _Two days after they turned down your offer._ "

"What?" She snatched the paper and read over the copy of a buy-out offer, complete with a stipulation that Puig complete their responsibilities to Galra before shutting down to restructure and retrain their employees. "Sincline Tech?" She looked up at Keith. "I've never heard of this company."

"Yeah, that's because it didn't exist until a few weeks ago."

"Who owns it?" She flipped through the papers, trying to find more intelligence.

"I haven't gotten that far. As best I can tell, it's being operated by a Sincline LLP." He found another contract and pointed to the business logo. "Do you recognize that emblem at all?"

She glowered at the paper, drew it closer to inspect the mark. It was a black and white copy, the logo too grainy to make out perfectly, but it appeared to be some sort of helm. Perhaps a skull? Or a dragon's head? She didn't recognize it immediately, though there was a tingle of suspicion at the back of her mind as she stared at it.

"Odd," she mused. "Have you found any other clues?"

"The only other thing I've found about Sincline that's strange is another buy-out." Keith took the folder to search the papers again. When he found what he was looking for, she sat back with a gasp at the details. "Yeah, did you know your father was selling one of his old refineries?"

"I knew he was cutting back his ties to mining operations and similar industries. Altea has made a number of advancements in creating synthetic construction materials within the lab that are more durable and do not require mining to craft. But I did not think my father would sell his mines or refineries, not if he thought Zarkon might find a way to snatch them up."

"Comet Ore Refinery," Shiro read off. "Did they buy the mine associated with this facility?"

"The mine had next to nothing left," Allura argued.

"No, but the refinery still had some of the basic material deposits left over," Keith pointed out. "Those were bought with the facility."

"Shit," she hissed, startling the men around her. She ignored their gaping expressions. "Keep digging into this. I agree. It's strange. The timing is too… I don't know, but it really does not sit right with me."

"Got it," Keith grunted, scoping up the papers. "I'll tell you if I learn anything new."

"Please do."

"Do you think Lotor is behind this?" Lance asked.

Keith shrugged. "I don't know. I need to look into more of Lotor's business decisions, buy-outs, contracts, whatever he's put together while in charge at Galra. If more of them lead to this same company, then it would be logical to assume he's connected somehow. It's too soon to say."

"What does this company even do?" Shiro asked. "It's a tech company, but… What sort of tech are they going into?"

"A refinery and radio components," Allura mused aloud.

"They're rebranding that factory, though," Lance pointed out. "You can use the refined ore for anything in tech, too."

Allura groaned. "This should not be any of my business."

"But if this company is setting itself up to compete with Altea…" Keith trailed off, the point he was trying to make left unspoken. "Do you want me to pass this along to your father's people?"

 _Yes_ , she thought to herself, but she did not want to concern him too much. Early ventures regularly failed, and his people surely had an eye on this company if it bought one of their refineries. "Keep this within Voltron for now," she decided. "If there is further proof that this is connected to Lotor or Galra, then I will take it to my father. But, if this is only a coincidence, I'd rather not raise an alarm yet."

"Just say the word, and I'll send this to your father," Keith said.

"Thank you, Keith." She forced a smile and sank back into her chair. "Let us hope that it is merely a coincidence. My father does not need further distraction from a decades old rivalry."

"Has he found out about that almost date with Lotor?" Lance asked.

"It wasn't going to be a date," she snapped. "And no. Romelle has been kind enough to keep that information to herself."

"Coran hasn't said anything?" Keith asked.

Allura let out a long sigh. "I begged him not to."

"She pulled out the princess pout," Coran called from the door, surprising them all with his appearance. "I can't say no to that pout. Big glistening eyes. A little whimper. Made me feel like I was about to kick a helpless puppy. I don't keep much from Alfor, but all the secrets I do have are hers."

"I have hardly asked you to keep that many secrets."

"One is more than I can handle, Allura," he whined. "Your father is an observant man. I haven't spoken to him in weeks because of this. I can't keep avoiding him! He'll figure it out!"

Then there was no way she could tell him about this Sincline business. Coran would break if she asked him to keep one more secret for her.

"It is not that important any more. I have not spoken to Lotor since then, and he has not tried to contact me." She huffed. "I suppose it would not do any harm for my father to know… Though…" She chewed on her lip as uncertainty filled her with nervous energy. "I should probably be the one to tell him. I kept it from him, after all."

"If you insist…" Coran straightened at the door and tilted his head back in a way that told her he had more to say.

"What is it, Coran?"

He took a deep breath, and then spoke in a rush nearly too fast for her to understand. "I just got off the phone with your father. You must call him back immediately."

Allura sighed. "Oh, Coran, you didn't…"

"Almost," he squeaked. "So close. He's suspicious. Romelle's been grumbling about the Daibazaals more than she's normally wont to. He thought something might have happened."

"Fine, I'll call him right now." She grabbed her phone and pulled up her father's number before glancing up at the men still hovering on the opposite side of her desk. "Can a girl have a bit of privacy?"

"Right." Shiro jumped out of his seat and waved at Lance and Keith. "Let's go chat about the work you two have been doing."

Allura's gaze swept to Coran who remained rooted in place beside her desk, hands clasped behind his back. She arched a brow, but he shook his head. "If I leave, you'll chicken out and then I'll have to avoid my best friend's calls for another month."

She slumped forward with another heavy sigh.

"Don't even try the pout again," Coran added. She glanced up to see his eyes squeezed shut. "If I don't see it, it won't work."

"I could whimper."

His fingers shot up to plug into his ears. He cracked open an eye just to enough to see her puff out her lip. "Don't even think about it, Allura. You are an adult now. This isn't like when you were a teenager, rushing off to dye your hair pink and get your naval pierced. Lord knows I did my share of sneaking about as a teen, was an utter ruffian back in those days, so I can't judge you for that. But this is a matter that could bite Altea in the bottom if it turns out Lotor's intentions were anything less than honorable."

Another sigh, this time resigned, and she relented with a nod. "No, you're right, Coran. I have to think about the good of Altea. I cannot put it at risk, not when Father has worked so hard to make it what it is. If I am to someday take the helm, I must not remain selfish or keep secrets like this."

Coran's expression softened as he relaxed. "I do believe your judgement is correct in some ways, Allura. I doubt Lotor had any ill intentions after running into you. That whole thing was a coincidence, and I'm sure your father would agree. You have no reason to hide this from him."

"I know."

Her father was a kind and patient man, he would be disappointed that she kept this from him, but he would understand. She had no reason to be nervous. Yet, she couldn't always predict how he would react to anything related to Zarkon. Reminiscing about the old days, before their friendship was lost, might bring out a bit of melancholy at the worst, but discussion of the present, of the man Zarkon became, that subject could make her father lose his temper. He never did more than pace and quietly rant about the man, perhaps he would shout a point or two in his tirade, but she hated seeing him so tense, so desperate to hide his anger and hurt.

Before she could lose her courage, she dialed her father and took a deep breath as she waited for him to answer.

"Allura," he greeted as soon as he picked up. She could hear the smile in his voice – warm, calm, genuinely happy that she had called. She instinctively relaxed upon hearing him, yet the feeling only made the guilt in her heart worsen.

"Father," she replied. "Coran said you wished to speak with me."

"Oh, it's nothing urgent, darling, I was just concerned. Feels as though you've been avoiding your old man these past days." His voice dripped with feigned despair. She could imagine him faking a pout through his white beard. It was a light-hearted jest, yet the guilt gnawed at her just imagining his expression.

"I… I have just been  _so_  busy here, father," she said, glancing to Coran in the hopes he might change his mind and tell her she didn't have to confess.

"Yes, I supposed as much, still I haven't even been able to patch into your video comms. Every time I call your office, it comes up with a blocked message. Rather strange."

"Oh! Well, uhhh, we just had some technical issues," she explained. "Bad connections and Pidge wanted to upgrade the security on our internet, so everything has been down for some time. She promises it'll all be back up and running better than before in a day or two." And hopefully secure enough to keep anyone at Galra from hacking into the feed again. She certainly could not tell her father about that mess.

"Ah, well, if that girl is taking care of it, then I have no doubt it'll be better than before." Alfor chuckled. "Now then, I suppose I should just come right out and ask… Coran was rather evasive when I tried to question him." Allura glanced at Coran and winced. He tried so hard to keep her secret this time. "Do you have any idea why Romelle is muttering insults about Lotor under her breath again? The marketing department is beginning to wonder about her. Did something happen? Melenor mentioned you asked about him some time ago, too - wondered if he had been by the house."

Allura sighed. "No… Well,  _yes_ , something happened. Nothing to worry about. I just… I should have told you then, but… I just ran into Lotor… The day you and I had lunch, when you brought the photos."

Her father remained silent for a moment, and then a short, quiet laugh escaped him. "I thought something was odd about you when I came back from that call. That was after you saw him, wasn't it?"

"Yes," she said, sounding as timid as a mouse. "I wasn't sure how to tell you. Nothing happened." She straightened in her chair and firmed up her tone. "He was perfectly cordial. Gentlemanly, even. It was nothing more than a quick hello, how have you been, sort of thing. He helped carry the tea to our table, and then was on his way to some meeting." She caught Coran's frown from the corner of her eye. "I might… I might have considered reconnecting with him, but after losing out on Puig, I thought it would be best to maintain the distance. Too much bad business between the families, after all."

Her father sighed heavily. "I am so sorry, Allura. I truly wish things could have gone differently. But, at this point, I fear it is too late to go back. I wish I could say otherwise, though."

"I know," she whispered, sagging forward in defeat. "I blame the timing that day for getting my hopes up."

"That was rather serendipitous." Her father chuckled. "All those good memories coming back, and then you see the very subject of them. I do not blame you for wanting your old friend back. It is only natural."

"Thank you for understanding, father."

"I will try to calm Romelle down for you. I take it you told her about seeing him and that is why she's so wound up."

"I was angry after learning about Puig returning to Galra. I knew Romelle would sympathize."

"Well, I'll have a chat with her."

"Sorry to complicate things at Altea."

"Nothing out of the ordinary, dear. But, if you're feeling particularly inclined to make it up to your old man, I have a favor to ask of you."

She straightened. "Of course. What did you need?"

"The Arus Benefit – I won't be able to attend this year. I know it is terribly last minute, but I completely forgot that I agreed to address the U.N. on our renewable energy tech at their next session, which happens to be the same week as the benefit. I don't believe I'll be able to make it back in time for it."

"I'm sure mother is cross with you for this," Allura teased. "She loves attending that."

Alfor groaned. "I sent her flowers yesterday to apologize. She greeted me at home with a smile and kiss on the cheek… And then called me an ass. She's hardly spoken to me since."

"It'll pass, father. She's just disappointed."

"It's worse when she's disappointed. You know that."

She giggled at her father's sulky tone. "I take it you wish for me to attend in your place?"

"If you could, I would greatly appreciate it. I was hoping you could convince Shiro to escort you. He's a popular lad at these things, and it would be good for you two to garner some extra support for Voltron there."

"I do have a few proposals that will need funding."

"Then this is the perfect opportunity for you to find some new donors. Everyone will be in a generous mood, and they all adore you. I doubt anyone will turn you down."

"I'll discuss it with Shiro and let you know. Is mother going to New York with you, then? I'm surprised she isn't going to attend the benefit without you."

"She thought about it, but I suggested she join me so I could take her out on a romantic date to make up for the scheduling error."

"It sounds as though she is not as disappointed as you think she is."

"I got down on my knees and begged her to come with me." He huffed. "I am not happy to miss out on the benefit, either. It was supposed to be our date night. Can you blame a man for wanting to spend an evening with his wife?"

"It's sweet. All will be well between you two once you're in New York."

"I'm sure you're right. I'll send you the invitation so you have the details. Oh, and there are a few things being auctioned that'll catch your eye. I had planned to bid on them for you, so if you wish to make a bid yourself, I'll cover the cost."

"Well, now I'm quite eager for the event." She wondered what Arus would auction this year that her father was so willing to purchase. "I'll go speak with Shiro right now and text you his answer."

"Thank you, darling. I'll let you go, then. Have a good day at the office."

She could hear the grin in his voice and couldn't restrain her own.

"You, too, father. Good luck with Romelle."

She looked toward Coran after hanging up. "Let's go get Shiro and tell him he needs a new tux."

Coran lit up. "We get to bunk off the rest of the day and shop?" he asked. She nodded excitedly in answer, and Coran pumped his fist while giving a delighted whoop. "I'll find you a jaw dropping dress, Princess. You and Shiro will be the belles of the ball…. Er, benefit, whatever. Let's go shopping!"

* * *

 

The desk of his home office was a disaster. Contracts littered the whole surface, his laptop was lost in a sea of missives and memos, snide notes arguing every attempt at change he tried to enact to maintain Galra Corp's standing. He knew his father had done more damage to himself and the company in his attempt to sink Altea, but the weeks since his return had given him an opportunity to see the severity of the situation.

They were operating in the red, losing business partners and contracts left and right, the bank had declined three loans in the span of a month before he was brought back. For the bank to decline a multibillion-dollar company was nearly unheard of. At the rate his father was going, he should have begun the restructuring process half a year earlier.

The worst of it was how few were willing to make a change in the hopes it would right the ship. Even his mother sneered at his attempts to fix the mess his father left, at least when she bothered to leave the man's bedside. She sent plenty of her spies and he had deleted dozens of emails from her without bothering to read them. He knew what they would say.

' _Do as you are told.'_

She would always take his father's side. It was pointless to believe she would ever agree with him on anything he did.

The temptation to let the company sink once and for all was stronger than ever, but he felt he had a duty to some of the people he didn't entirely loathe that worked for his father because they had no better option. And somewhere inside him, a desperate child still lived, longing to prove himself capable to the people who should have supported him in all his dreams. If he could bring the company back to its former glory, perhaps then his parents would see their son for who he was, would not cast him off again. He wanted to prove them wrong most of all, but he would revel at hearing their congratulations, their gratitude, before turning around to crush their pithy attempts to remedy the divide between them.

He would turn his back on them just as they turned theirs to him.

A knock on his office door broke him from the glare he held on a contract in his hands. He gave up his effort to concentrate on it and tossed it aside.

"Come in," he called as he reached for another stack of memos Acxa had given him when she came to his flat that morning. His mother was irritated that he had decided to work from home over the past week, and that sentiment had been passed throughout the upper management. Most of the memos were meant to be between the staff, but Narti had intercepted those she came across to pass along to him. Words of contempt he was all too familiar with. It was amusing to see them whine and complain about his 'poor work ethic' as he lazed about at home. Even if they saw the state of his office, they would still believe him to be shirking his duties.

He had duties to Galra, and he had his own interests that demanded some of his attention. It was easier to balance them at home, away from prying eyes and his mother's spies.

A throat cleared to remind him that someone was there. He had assumed it was Acxa, returned with more emails and memos to chuckle at, but he froze in shock at the tall, slender, middle-aged woman before him. Her features were hard, chiseled from granite and set in a near permanent frown. Her gaze was sharp as she stared down her nose at him. Salt and pepper hair was tied in a neat bun, her simple dark brown suit was crisp and tailored to her thin frame, and her nails bore an impeccable manicure, polished in the darkest maroon he had ever seen, so perfect she may very well have just come from the salon, but he knew well enough that she could have had them done a week before. He had never seen her chip a nail or scuff her polish. The woman before him was never anything less than put together.

"Lotor," Dayak greeted.

Her terse tone made him instinctively straighten. Years of conditioning he would never lose. But even as he corrected his posture, his eyes narrowed on his former governess. Her presence was not unwelcome, but it was not often that she graced him with a visit at home. She had a key, the doorman knew she was permitted up, but she only ever dropped by unannounced if there was an emergency.

"Dayak," he greeted in return. "Is there something amiss?"

"No," she said as her steely gaze swept over his office. "At least not for me. I  _was_  concerned that something might be wrong here. Your assistant informed me you were not in the office again, and you were not answering my calls."

He blinked in surprise, cast his gaze back down to the chaos on his desk. His mobile should be  _somewhere_  in there. "Ah. I must not have heard it."

Dayak hummed as she stepped forward, reached under a stack near a vase of flowers Ezor insisted upon arranging for his office. The orange and red blooms lent a splash of color to the blues and browns of the usually tidy space to  _soften it up_  – according to her. He liked them well enough and agreed to let the girls pick out bouquets for his reception room and the dining table. They did nothing to improve the condition of his office at that moment, and he was surprised he had not yet knocked them off his desk as he tossed papers about.

Dayak slipped her hand back out and waved his mobile in front of him. He snatched it from her and tried to check all the messages he surely missed. The screen remained black. "And I seem to have forgotten to put it on the charger," he added. "Apologies if you were worried."

Dayak snorted, her lips quirked in the barest hint of a smile. "Hardly that worried. I thought you might be elbow deep in contracts. You have taken on a great deal in the last few weeks, and I could not be prouder of what you have accomplished thus far."

"I've hardly begun, Dayak. I believe it is too soon to offer any congratulations if that is what you are here for," he said as he plugged his phone into its charger.

"Of course not." She straightened further, tilted her head back in what others might believe was an arrogant gesture. It was nothing more than her own conditioning. "But you should still be proud of your latest victories."

He hummed in amusement at the stern command in her tone. She would not allow him to disparage himself or sell himself short. She had raised him with a firm hand, but she showed him more love and care than either of his parents. And after he lost his friendship with Allura, Dayak had softened considerably toward him, at least when her employers were not around – fortunately they rarely were.

"If you are not here to congratulate me, then may I ask what you wished to speak to me about?" he asked as he tried to reorganize the mess in front of him.

"I come bearing news on the Arus Benefit."

His head snapped up, eyes wide as Dayak's expression turned truly arrogant. He cocked a brow. "What news could you possibly have that might pertain to me? The Daibazaals have not been invited to the benefit since I was a boy. It is an  _Altea_  function."

"Perhaps that was the case, but they might be willing to reconsider that unspoken rule this year."

He folded his arms over his desk and leaned forward. "Explain."

Dayak's amusement returned as she slipped into a chair, seating herself at the edge with legs crossed and back straight. "Alfor and Melenor will not be in attendance this year. Alfor has a prior engagement with the U.N. that week that will keep him away."

"And you know this how?"

"I have my own connections." She sniffed haughtily to signal that she would not elaborate on that. "But this is an opportunity you cannot afford to miss. You need those people, you need their generosity. You need to separate your name from your father's. There is no better place to find allies." She cleared her throat as he quietly considered that. "And I know for a fact that Alfor requested his only daughter attend in his place."

He was careful to keep his expression neutral even as his heartbeat turned into a rapid staccato. The only sign of interest he provided Dayak was a quiet hum, urging her to continue.

"Your father never liked to pay for his plate at these functions. He felt that if they wished for his presence and name, they owed it to him to bend over backwards for him and invite him as an honored guest."

"Which irked everyone at Arus," he said. "It is a charity benefit. He could spare a few thousand pounds for a seat at the table."

"He could, but it was the principle of the matter of him," she agreed. "He was fortunate that his closest friend wanted he and his wife to attend every year, so Alfor was more than willing to double his payment to cover Zarkon and Honerva's cost. With their fallout, Zarkon refused to attend and Arus ceased sending him an invitation, but Alfor has continued to pay double should Zarkon wish to join him and make an honest effort at repairing the divide between the families."

"Therefore, if a Daibazaal requested a seat, Arus is expected to provide it," he finished, humming in thought as he sank back in his chair. He propped his chin on a hand and gave the idea his full consideration. "After all these years, Arus may not wish to disturb the peace and allow a Daibazaal to attend."

"True, but if a Daibazaal made a faithful gesture of peace toward them, they may be swayed."

"Hmm, so if a Daibazaal were to not only pay for their plate, but perhaps pay double to match Altea's donation, Arus would be remiss to deny them attendance." He grabbed his phone to see that it was charged enough. "And perhaps if they requested and paid for more plates than Altea, Arus would welcome them with open arms."

"A charity requires every quid they can get their hands on. They could not deny such generosity."

He chuckled as he looked up the number for the Arus Group and then dialed them up. Dayak sat back in her seat, relaxed for the first time since she set foot in his office, and smiled wide with unabashed pride.

"Yes, hello, I wish to speak with the person in charge of the benefit's attendance," he said upon connecting.

"Whom may I say is speaking?"

"Lotor Daibazaal."

There was an audible intake of breath before a lengthy pause. He waited patiently as the line jostled about, he thought he heard the poor wretch whisper to someone. He grinned when they returned and stammered, "Just a moment," before they placed him on hold to listen to Pachelbel's Canon in D on a loop.

He wondered if they were rushing about in a panic at his call after he waited nearly twenty minutes on hold. He could almost imagine the poor secretary watching the line flash with increasing fear, praying to whatever God they held that he would give up. Unfortunately, he was not the sort of man to give up.

"Terribly rude of them to keep you on hold this long," Dayak huffed as she inspected her manicure for the third time. "They should be falling over themselves for your money."

"Considering who my father is, I am sure they have no expectations of money from me. Only drama," he said as he draped his right leg over his left and switched his phone to his other ear.

Dayak  _tsked_  quietly but refrained from arguing. She knew he had a point.

"Mr. Daibazaal," someone finally answered, their tone clipped and formal to thinly veil the touch of annoyance seeping into their words. "I apologize for keeping you on hold for so long. I am sure you can understand how busy we are with the benefit just around the corner."

"Of course," he conceded, grinning sharply. "And that benefit is the very reason I called."

"Yes, of course," they muttered.

"I wish to make a donation."

"Oh." That perked them up. "Ahhh,  _just_  a donation?"

Lotor chuckled. They would hope that he would not request a seat with his generosity. He almost felt guilty for putting them through so much trouble.

"I know my father has been no friend to you over the years, but he remains in hospital – things are different now."

"You wish to attend?" they asked flatly.

"Of course, as would be my right as a donor."

"Mr. Daibazaal… With all due respect…"

"The cost per plate is five thousand, correct?" he asked, interrupting their refusal.

"Yes, but…"

"I would happily pay fifteen thousand per plate."

"Excuse me, sir, did you say  _fifteen?_ "

"Is that not enough? Perhaps twenty. And I wish to have three seats, so that would come to sixty thousand quid."

"Sixty… Um… Ah…  _Sixty…_ "

Lotor chuckled. "And while I looked for your number, I noticed you have quite a few interesting pieces up for auction. I am fully prepared to make many  _generous_  bids. Of course, should I fail to win any, I would be more than happy to offer an additional sum as a donation without recompense. It is all for a good cause, after all."

"Yes… yes… a good cause… uhhh… Hold just a moment."

Lotor snorted when Pachelbel returned before he could even respond.

"Are you on hold again?" Dayak asked.

"Yes." He leaned his head back and shut his eyes. "If I ever have to hear Pachelbel again, I may lose my mind."

Dayak snorted. "Let us hope they refrain from playing it at the benefit."

"Yes, let's hope."

"They cannot possibly refuse that offer," Dayak stated.

"No, and they won't. But that will not stop them from panicking over it."

"I apologize for putting you on hold again," the representative said as soon as they returned. He restrained the urge to chuckle at how breathless they sounded. Had they raced around the office to get permission from higher ups? "You requested three seats, correct?"

He could hear fingers flying over a keyboard, a flurry of clacks that told him he had secured his invite. "Yes. For myself and two assistants. My parents will not attend, if that concerns you."

"No, no, of course that is not a concern," they lied. "And what method will you be paying."

Lotor shifted to pull his wallet from his back pocket. "By card."

"Proceed when you are ready."

He rattled off the numbers and expiration, hummed when they repeated them.

"You are officially added to the list, Mr. Daibazaal," they said. "You should receive the official invitation in the post within the next two days. We are all excited to once more host a Daibazaal."

He bit his tongue at the additional lie. They were only excited to snag a bit of his savings.

"I am excited to attend and represent my family for the first time in much too long," he said. "Thank you for your assistance."

With the pleasantries finished, he hung up and dialed Ezor as Dayak beamed with renewed pride. He ignored his former governess' good mood and waited for his assistant to answer.

"What's up, boss?" Ezor greeted upon answering.

"How would you and Zethrid like to meet the princess?" he asked.

Ezor inhaled sharply and he could almost feel her excitement radiate over the line. "Wait… You're talking about Allura, right? Not like… an  _actual_  British royal?"

He chuckled. "Yes, I mean Allura."

He held his phone away at her squeal of excitement.

"What do we need to do?" she asked in a rush, her voice breathless and panting. She must be bouncing in place. He knew she wished to meet Allura, but he had not expected her to be so eager.

"I just secured the three of us tickets to the Arus Benefit. Take Zethrid and find yourselves some appropriate attire for the evening."

"What's our limit?"

He hummed in thought. "Take the black card."

His answer was met with another excited shriek. The black card belonged to Galra, so his father would be paying the tab, which meant the girls could buy up a whole new wardrobe and he wouldn't care a whit about the cost. They could buy the whole of Harrod's for all he cared.

"Should we stop by your tailor for a new suit?"

"I suppose I could do with a proper tux for the evening." He had plenty, but it was a special event, so he might as well splurge on a new outfit.

"Navy blue," Dayak said. "A prince should look nothing less than dashing if he is to be in the company of a princess," she explained, prompting him to chuckle.

"Did you hear that?" he asked Ezor.

"Navy blue. Got it." Another squeal. "This is going to be so much fun! I hope she flips you off again!"

He snorted. "That would make for an amusing evening, yes. Oh, and before you go, can you inform Acxa of my plans? She will know what to do with the information."

"On it," she chirped before hanging up.

"It is a pity I will not be attending," Dayak said. "I, too, would like to see the princess again."

"There will be more functions, I am sure. You will have your opportunity," he assured. "But for now, I owe it to bring those two along this time."

She waved off his promises. "I have faith that I will meet her again very soon. You need not explain anything to me." She gave him another honest smile – almost a grin. "I wish you luck." Her grin vanished. "Don't screw it up."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long delay and short chapter.


	6. The Benefit Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nerves and anticipation make for an entertaining start to the evening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was getting long so I've split it into two parts while I procrastinate on writing the second half.  
> And a warning: Zethrid and Ezor are blunt and vulgar in this chapter.

Her heart fluttered in her chest as she peeked out the front window. The car had yet to arrive. It wasn’t due for another fifteen minutes, but she had hoped it would be early.

Sighing, Allura walked back to the chaise in her formal reception room and sat down. She opened her clutch to double check that she had her things. Mobile, house keys, lip gloss, and identification – all there, just as they had been when she checked five minutes earlier. And fifteen minutes prior to that. And an hour before.

She had been dressed and ready to go for the last two hours, though it took her an hour to leave her room as she stood in front of the mirror questioning if the golden leaves and pearl beads winding through her hair were too much. The coif was elaborate enough after her stylist spent over two hours curling and pinning and braiding her long hair to gather atop her head, leaving a few soft tendrils to frame her face. She would be fishing for pins all night after the benefit, and likely find more the next day. She thought it looked gorgeous - well worth the effort and strain.

But was it too much?

The gold and pearls seemed too decadent for a charity benefit. It was too much like a tiara in her eyes. Would others think her arrogant? Pompous? Out of touch?

She stood from the chaise and aimed for the powder room to examine the accessory in another light. It would be a painstaking task to take the combs and vines out. She would ruin the hard work done to set them in place so that they appeared woven into the thick braided crown. And it matched splendidly with the thin golden vines and pearl flowers of her necklace and earrings.

But it was too much. It really was. She should look demure, conservative. Even her dress…

 _Oh_ , her dress.

She might have time…

Her heart raced as she hurried to the front window and peered out once more. Still no car. She checked the time.

It should arrive at any minute. Perhaps if she hurried, she could salvage some piece of her reputation.

She gathered the skirt of her dress and aimed for the stairs before coming to a halt. She glanced down and stuck her lip out, whimpering in dismay.

She had fallen in love with the soft lilac silk and lavender lace flowers decorating the bust and hem of the dress. The mermaid shape fit her frame better than any other dress she found, accentuated her hips, was loose enough that she felt comfortable moving without fear of tripping over herself. She thought the off-shoulder sleeves and low back trimmed with yet more lilac and lavender lace was elegant and refined.

Now she just wondered if she showed too much skin. Her arms were completely bare save for the thin band of fabric around her biceps. Her shoulders felt cold the more she thought about it. And her back was nearly on full display. It was all just too… too…

She was supposed to be a _lady_. A _princess._ Prim. Proper. Not… Not a woman flaunting her figure. Certainly _not_ at a charity event. She could just imagine the whispers that would reach her father after that night. Society people loved their gossip, and she would be the highlight of it.

She must change.

The bell rang just as she began to ascend the stairs. She whimpered at the poor timing and spun to answer the door. Shiro would understand if she made him wait another minute or two.

Her stomach knotted with anxiety as she swung the door open to be greeted by a single pink rose and warm smile. She should be relaxed, eager to get to the benefit, to network with old family friends in the hope of garnering more support for the foundation, but all she felt was a nervous energy swirling inside her that made it difficult to stand still.

“You look beautiful tonight, Allura,” Shiro said as she took the offered flower. She had to force her hand not to tremble while every cell of her being screamed for her to flee upstairs and change. Shiro’s compliment only served to remind her of that urgent wish.

“Thank you, Shiro,” she said with a sigh. “Come in. I’ll put this in some water before I change.”

“Change?” he asked, stepping into the entry. “Why do you have to change? Something happen to the dress?”

His curiosity was sweet and innocent as he glanced down, brow raised. He frowned as his cursory inspection came up with no signs of damage before she hurried to the kitchen to put the rose in a glass.

“Nothing happened, I’m just… I’m not happy with it,” she explained.

Shiro cocked his head and furrowed his brows. “Okay?”

“I mean, it’s a splendid dress. Utterly perfect. But… I just…” She took a deep breath and sought the words to describe her feelings. She focused on the water flowing from the tap, wishing she could follow it down the drain. “It’s too much. I’m flaunting everything. They’ll whisper and talk and then my father will hear of the scandal and he’ll be so disappointed. I can’t possibly disappoint him, it’s mortifying enough just thinking about it. He’s entrusted Voltron to me. I cannot let him down. I –”

She cut off her rambling when Shiro gripped her shoulders and turned her to face him. His smile was soft and kind, filled with understanding as he held her gaze.

“It’s okay be nervous,” he reassured. “This is a big night for you, but you look fine. There is nothing about that dress that will make people think less of you, and it won’t change the fact your father is proud of you.”

Her lip quivered, and she glanced down at her dress. He had a point, but it did little to quell the roiling in her stomach.

“It’s not too much? I have another dress upstairs. Might be a little musty. I haven’t worn it in years, so it might be a bit tight, too. It covers my arms and neck, nothing too showy…” She looked back up at him, pleading that he let her change. “But I can have it on in a flash and be ready to go.”

Shiro chuckled. “I’m sure you can, but you look amazing as is.” He cocked his head again, his smile turned knowing. “And I don’t think it’s the dress you’re nervous about.”

“No,” she snapped. “It’s definitely the dress. There is absolutely nothing else worrisome about tonight.” Shiro’s brow rose. “Maybe the hair accessories, but I have resigned myself to leaving them. It would be rude to my stylist to take them out and ruin all her hard work.”

“Uh-huh. It’s not the hair, either.”

She huffed. “Maybe….” She glanced around the room for some other answer. Nothing else came to mind. “It’s the dress. Or… I don’t know, maybe the prospect of networking for Voltron has me anxious.”

“Well, that makes more sense than it being the dress.” He snorted. “But you’ve networked at these things before. You grew up watching your father do it. You know how to navigate these events better than anyone else I know.”

“Yes… but, I’ve always had my father there, or Coran, or anyone else who knows what they’re doing. This is my first time going it alone.” She clasped her hands together over her stomach and squeezed them in an effort to ease their trembling.

Shiro’s brow arched. “You’re not alone, Allura. I’ll be right by your side.”

The tension in her shoulders melted away, but the reminder did little to soothe the swarm of butterflies assaulting her.

Shiro leaned down with a quiet chuckle, drawing her gaze to the amused sparkle in his eyes. “And that isn’t what has you nervous, either. I’m pretty sure it’s just a certain guest on the list that has you this wound up.”

Her eyes widened, and she gasped at what he insinuated. “I have no idea what you are talking about, sir.”

“Uh-huh. So, you’re not nervous about seeing Lotor again?”

She tilted her chin up. “Absolutely not.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Why would I be nervous to see him again?”

“Hmmm, I don’t know, but maybe you could tell me.”

She stepped away from him to finish filling the glass with water. “I couldn’t tell you anything because I’m not nervous to see him. Absolutely not. No. Not at all.”

“The lady doth protest too much,” Shiro teased.

She rounded on him with a glare. “Don’t you dare make fun of me.”

He pursed his lips and raised his hands in surrender as she pointed up in warning. A snort of laughter leaked out despite the effort, and she stormed away with a huff.

“Allura,” he called after her as she headed to the stairs. “Allura, wait,” he called again before gently grasping her wrist and tugging her away from the stairs. “I’m sorry,” he said as soon as she glanced back at him. “If you really want to change, I won’t stop you, but I still don’t think it’ll make you feel any better.”

She hated when he was right. “You don’t think it’s my dress?”

“Not even a little bit.”

She glanced up. “And my hair is all right? The gold and pearls aren’t too much?”

“It’s beautiful. You’re going to knock everyone dead tonight.”

She frowned at her manicured nails. Could she blame those for her nerves?

Shiro took her hands before she could pick at the pink polish. “You look like a princess,” he assured, his expression one of unabashed honesty. “Everyone at the benefit will be drawn to you, and that will make networking that much easier for you. It’ll be fine.”

Allura scrunched her nose. “Why do you have to be so sweet?”

“Your father entrusted me to be his princess’s knight, and being sweet is in the job description,” he joked.

She lightly swatted his chest and laughed. “Well, you’re a natural at it.” She took a deep breath and let it out on a sigh. “I won’t change, but…” She grimaced. “I really am not nervous about Lotor. I swear.”

He hummed but did not argue again.

“Do you… Did Keith learn anything more about his guests?” she asked.

Shiro’s jaw slackened. “Ah, that’s what you’re worried about.” He sighed and smiled apologetically. “Still no word on that. I doubt it’s his parents. Arus would have warned you if they were joining him.”

“But they did not warn me about his attendance. I had to hear it from Keith,” she pointed out.

Shiro shrugged. “As far as we know, Zarkon is still in the hospital, and I doubt Honerva would leave her husband’s side to attend a benefit neither of them have attended in years. Lotor’s guests are probably just dates.”

Allura scowled as her chest tightened. “Of course,” she muttered before shaking away her sour mood at the thought of Lotor arriving with a woman on each arm. The image irritated her, and she could not begin to fathom why. She forced a smile and straightened her back. “Well, at least I have Shiro the Hero as my date. I know I will be perfectly safe no matter who he brings,” she said, patting his shoulder.

Shiro groaned and slumped forward. “Everyone’s going to call me that all night.”

“You earned the moniker honestly, Shiro.” She caught his attention and winked. “Quite fitting if you are to be my paladin, too.”

He snorted and straightened. “Then, do I look the part, Princess?”

She stepped back to make a show of inspecting his black tuxedo. It was simple and sleek, fit his broad shoulders and slender waist perfectly. “Very handsome, noble paladin,” she complimented as she reached up to adjust his bow tie. “I will be the envy of the ball.”

“I think I should be the one saying that.” He chuckled, head tilted back to help her fix his tie.

She giggled as she brushed her hands over his chest to smooth out his jacket, then adjusted his white pocket square before moving to examine his cufflinks – black and white with a tiny red stone in each. “I don’t remember seeing these when we picked out your tux.”

“Oh, yeah… Uh, Keith helped me pick them out,” Shiro explained. “They look okay?”

“Of course. I like the touch of red. Let me get my clutch and we can go.” She pulled away to fetch her bag from the reception room. “Can you get my white coat from the entry closet?”

“Got it,” he called out. When she returned to the entry, she found him waiting with her coat open, grinning at her. “You sure you don’t want to change?”

She huffed at the teasing as she slipped into the coat. “Keep that up, and I’ll see that they make a big commotion about Shiro the Hero being in attendance. I’ll have your dance card filled up and you won’t be allowed to sit once all evening.”

He grimaced. “You wouldn’t?”

“Oh, I would.”

“I’ll behave, Princess,” he groaned as she turned to grin up at him.

She gave his cheek a pat. “I know you will. Now, let’s go win over some donors, shall we?”

Her anxiety vanished the moment he opened the door and offered his arm.

She could do this.

She could face Lotor again.

* * *

 

In all his years of attending galas and benefits and whatever other various functions his father thrust upon him, he always appreciated the concept of ‘fashionably late’ – because he never wanted to be at any of the stuffy affairs to begin with. But this benefit was different. He _wanted_ to attend. _Needed_ to. It was one thing to arrive five, perhaps ten minutes late – he could blame traffic if need be, but to arrive twenty minutes late was reprehensible. Even he had never dared to show up beyond fifteen minutes late, despite dragging his feet and wishing he could whine like a child about the whole thing.

“Ugh, I picked the wrong shoes,” Ezor lamented behind him as he led them from the coat room.

“I think those shoes look fine,” Zethrid commented, her tone flat after spending their entire drive reassuring her girlfriend that she looked stunning.

And she did, Lotor could admit, though after waiting twenty minutes in their parlor room as Ezor ran around the house like a neon tornado trying to decide between the twenty dresses she purchased with his Galra account, he was loath to speak on the subject. All the dresses were some variation of orange or peach, mixed with pinks or yellows. _Colorful_. They all suited her tall, slender frame and dark skin tone, spoke of her vibrant personality just as well as the long blonde hair she tied into a simple ponytail, showing off the streaks of color dyed into the straight locks as they cascaded down her back.

She stood in stark contrast to her girlfriend. Zethrid was comfortable in her simple black suit, the only splash of color in her attire found in the orange tie and pocket square, decorated with pink paisley. Ezor, of course, was responsible for those accessories.

“I should have picked the gold shoes,” Ezor huffed.

“Those are gold,” Zethrid pointed out.

“No, these are rose gold. I should have picked the _gold-_ gold shoes.”

Zethrid hummed. “I still don’t know which shoes you’re talking about. You bought – what? – six pairs of them?”

“Nine,” Lotor supplied. “And somehow slipped in a pair of trainers, too.”

“Those are a perfectly legitimate expense,” Ezor stated. “I run around doing all your errands. I need the comfort walking around this city as much as I do.”

He grunted, brushing off her explanation as they entered the ballroom. He would never question any of her purchases, not when his father was footing the bill. The reason would help his own argument should the company accountant make a fuss about the expenses, though.

His gaze swept over the expansive room, searching for one person in particular while Ezor continue to bemoan her attire. Guests mingled on the upper level they entered from – tables of hors d’oeuvres and two open bars beckoning them to linger there as they chatted. More people milled downstairs where tables were arranged around a stage and dance floor. A string quartet played, but no one had yet taken to the floor, all too busy with their conversations.

The room was decorated in white and silver tapestry, swaths of silk and blue crystal beads shimmering in the soft light provided by the chandeliers. It was elegant and warm.

Or, it would be warm if not for the cold gazes that flit toward him as he walked into the room. He held his head high, gave each unwelcoming look a polite smile that came easily after years of practice. He expected chilly greetings, if he received any at all. After his father, he was the last person any of these people wished to see. That would change with time. He could ignore the narrowed eyes and whispers until he showed them that he was nothing like his father.

“Oh! Oh!” Ezor exclaimed, tugging at his arm as she pointed across the room. “There she is,” she whispered excitedly. “Oh, she’s even prettier in person.”

He followed her hand to a corner near one of the bars and stopped so suddenly, Zethrid crashed into his back. His jaw slackened, his heart lurched painfully in his chest, and he found that his lungs no longer knew how to breathe.

Pretty was an understatement.

He spun away, dragging Ezor with him as she continued to cling to his sleeve.

“Wait… What? Why are you going this way?” Ezor asked as he hurried downstairs. “Allura is right over there.”

“We should find our table,” he hastily explained.

Zethrid made a loud guffaw behind them. “He chickened out. He’s totally chickening out.”

“I did not _chicken out_ ,” he snarled back at her.

“Then why aren’t you going to talk to her. She’s the whole reason you’re here,” Zethrid said between chuckles.

“Yeah, and we’re supposed to meet her,” Ezor whined with a tug on his sleeve. “Come on, Lotor. Introduce us, already.”

“In time,” he bit out through clenched teeth. “She is in the middle of a conversation. I will not barge my way into her evening.”

“You kind of already are,” Zethrid said just as he found the table with their name cards. “You literally bribed people to get an invitation, knowing that you’re not welcome, just to see her again.”

“I… I am here for business purposes,” he argued.

“Uh-huh. Sure. That’s what we’re calling it now.”

He growled under his breath. “I might have used… devious means to attend this function, and my motives might be…”

“Selfish?” Ezor suggested.

“In my own interests.”

“So… _selfish_ ,” Zethrid pointed out, grinning in the face of his glare. “Don’t worry, we’re still on your side, boss.”

He sighed. “My means might be questionable, and my motives may not be ideal, but that does not mean I must intrude upon her conversations.” He pulled out a chair and gestured for the girls to sit. “She is surely here to garner support for Voltron. I can patiently wait for an opportunity to approach her.”

Zethrid and Ezor exchanged a look, and then turned to share their matching dubious expressions with him.

“So? You chickened out?” they asked in unison.

He hissed and looked away. “ _Yes_. I chickened out.”

Ezor squealed. “Tonight is going to be _so_ much fun.”

Despite the endless amusement they would take at his expense, Ezor turned the conversation away from Allura. A respite before the true torture she would put him through. He welcomed the reprieve and idly listened to the girl’s banter as he watched Allura make her rounds upstairs.

“Maybe it’s the dress,” Ezor commented. “I should have picked the one with sequins.”

“They all had sequins,” Zethrid said.

Allura’s dress had no sequins, but she sparkled all the same. The lilac shade of her dress was so soft, it was nearly pink, and looked utterly marvelous on her. It was a simple, modest cut until she turned just enough for him to see the back, and he had to bite his cheek to restrain a groan.

He should have mentally prepared to see the princess in a backless gown, with those soft lace flowers flowing over her waist and hips. What he wouldn’t give to be the owner of the hand at the small of her back.

“The one with the sweetheart bust would have been perfect,” he heard Ezor moan. “Why didn’t I listen to my gut on that one.”

“I still have no idea which dress you’re talking about,” Zethrid muttered. “They all looked the same to me.”

“The same?” Ezor shrieked.

“There were three dresses with a sweetheart bust,” Lotor offered before they could bicker about her wardrobe. His gaze remained fixed on the woman across the room, narrowed on the offending hand that looked far too comfortable on her. “You will have to be more specific,” he forced himself to say as his gaze followed the arm to it owner.

Takashi Shirogane. Of course, Allura would have such a remarkable man as her escort. Everyone at Galra knew about him. Everyone around the world knew about Shiro the Hero, his exploits, his feats, his suffering, and his rewards. There was even talk of a comic book coming out inspired by his life. Or perhaps it was a cartoon?

Lotor could find no faults in him. What he knew of the man was nothing less than admirable, and he was more than deserving of the accolades he received after enduring such torture in that witch’s laboratory.

He was a good match for a woman like Allura. Gossip painted him as a kind and caring man, and as he watched the pair talk with someone he recognized from Olkari Systems, he appeared to be polite and well-spoken. His smile was easy-going, confident, yet still gentle. His laugh echoed around the room. When Allura spoke, his whole attention turned to her, his gaze filled with respect and admiration.

It was a good match. He was glad to see her so happy.

“The one with the ruched silk around the bodice,” Ezor was saying as he glanced toward Allura’s brilliant smile.

“That narrows it down to two,” he idly said just before Allura glanced over her shoulder and met his gaze. His breath caught as her eyes widened. Her date’s arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her in to whisper something in her ear that stole her attention away.

The pressure in his chest lessened, but his heart continued to hammer.

“The one that looks like a sunset,” Ezor said and he finally tore his gaze from Allura to smile at the woman pouting beside him.

“Ah, that one was lovely,” he complimented. Her lip puffed out further. “But you look lovely tonight, Ezor, and there will be plenty of occasions to wear the others.”

She huffed, but her frustration eased when Zethrid pinched her cheek. “My girl’s the prettiest one here.”

“Any other night, I might believe you, but _clearly_ Allura is the prettiest one here,” Ezor said, pointing toward him as he fought the urge to glance Allura’s way again. “He can’t take his eyes off her.”

“He’s biased,” Zethrid said. “He can’t help it. He’s pining for a childhood friend. We’re lucky he’s even acknowledged our existence since he saw her.”

“I am not pining for anyone. I am…” What was he doing? Staring at her as though she were a beacon of light he could not tear away from, beckoning him to come closer, to bask in the very essence of her.

“Drooling over the hottest woman at the ball?” Ezor offered.

“Calculating the odds of survival if you kidnap her right here and now?” Zethrid suggested.

“Ooo, probably thinking about _what_ he could do to her if he kidnapped her.”

“Please,” he snapped. “I am not thinking anything so crass or barbaric. I am…” He swallowed a groan. “Admiring how well she juggles all the guests wishing to talk to her.”

“Uh-huh. So, nothing to do with the obvious crush you have on her?” Ezor asked.

“I do not have a crush on her,” he said with a flat stare before scoffing at the thought. He was not a teenage boy combating unruly hormones. He was a grown man. “All I harbor for her is respect and admiration.”

“And a deep-seated urge to eviscerate the man at her side so you can take his place.”

“No,” he growled. How had he not fired these two yet?

“We should tell him,” Zethrid said to Ezor.

“Nah, let him stew a while longer.”

“I almost feel bad. He’s obviously too blind to see it himself.”

“That’s not our problem.”

Lotor cleared his throat to break into their conversation. “ _What_ are you not telling me?”

Ezor made a gesture of zipping her lips shut. He turned to Zethrid who appeared ready to explain, but snapped her mouth shut when her girlfriend swatted her arm. She shook her head and grimaced in apology.

With no answers forthcoming, he turned his gaze back to Allura and her date. His hand had moved to her shoulder as they privately spoke. His fingers brushed over her skin in a comforting manner. They looked cozy and content, their own little island in a sea of people.

“He’s gay,” Zethrid blurted out.

Lotor snapped his head around to stare incredulously at her. “I’m sorry? What?”

Ezor groaned. “Way to ruin the surprise.”

“The guy deserves to know he has no competition there,” Zethrid argued. “Even I’m not that cruel to make him suffer.”

He blinked as he tried to make sense of this information and then turned back to the couple. They looked every bit the perfect pair. “Are you sure?”

“The Sun did a whole piece on him after Altea found him,” Ezor explained.

“I would hardly trust anything the Sun wrote.”

“Other papers did exposés on him, too,” she huffed, pulling her mobile from her clutch to start searching for him. “I’m surprised you don’t know. If it has to do with Altea, you usually read everything you can find.”

“I skimmed a few of the articles on him,” he admitted. “I do not remember reading anything about his sexual orientation. Though, it is not anyone’s business to be splashing all over the papers like some tawdry gossip.”

“They didn’t splash it all over,” Ezor said. “And I guess we shouldn’t be surprised. You only read those articles to find what Allura or her father have been up to.”

“I… I do not… It’s… _research_ …”

“You’re an Alfor fanboy and have been holding a flame for his daughter since you were a kid,” Ezor said as she held the phone for him to read an article from the Houston Times. “Right there.” She pointed at the screen, to a section she highlighted. “They talk about his time at the Garrison and interviewed his ex-fiancé. _Adam._ ”

He glowered at the article. “So, he was engaged to a man before. That does not automatically make him gay. He could very well be bi or pan. We don’t know.” He handed Ezor back her phone. “And it does not make any difference to me.”

Zethrid and Ezor rolled their eyes at each other.

“If he was bi, he would be checking Allura out at least as much as you have,” Zethrid pointed out.

“His whole attention has been on her,” he argued.

“No,” Ezor said, her tone firm and biting enough to make him sit straight and listen. “ _Your_ whole attention has been on her. You haven’t even noticed him check out the waiter.”

“Yeah, he’s checked that guy out like three times already.”

“Oh, there he did it again.”

Lotor looked over, and sure enough, Shiro’s gaze lingered a bit longer than normal on a handsome waiter as he walked away from their small circle. He frowned.

“Perhaps he is just hungry and wishes for something more than the hors d’oeuvres?”

Ezor snorted. “Yeah, like that waiter’s ass.” She waved off his sneer. “I can’t really blame you for not noticing. Allura is honestly the hottest girl in this room, so it’s only natural you wouldn’t look at anyone but her.”

“Oh, I just realized something hilarious,” Zethrid said, biting back her laughter as she watched Allura and her date. “You two are competing right now and don’t even know it.”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

Ezor’s eyes widened as she caught on to her girlfriend’s point first. “Oh man, they are.”

“Explain,” he growled.

“She brought a single gay man as her date,” Zethrid began.

“And you brought two lesbians,” Ezor finished.

He slumped forward with a groan as they snickered to each other.

“She picked her date well, too. I mean… He’s polite and since he isn’t attracted to her, she doesn’t have to worry about being groped,” Zethrid said.

“Yeah, and Shirogane is… Well… If I had to pick a dick…” Ezor trailed off. There was no need to finish that statement.

“Same,” Zethrid exclaimed, holding up a hand for Ezor to give her a high-five. “Though, I’d still rather bang Allura.”

“Oh, yeah, definitely. Hey, maybe she’s bi, too?”

“Can we please discuss something other than Allura’s proclivities,” he moaned, pinching the bridge of his nose as he willed away an impending headache. “This is hardly the forum for such a topic.”

“Oh, come on, have a little fun,” Zethrid teased. She nudged Ezor and grinned. “Bet he’d bottom for Shirogane.”

Ezor gaped in excitement. “He would! He would totally suck – ”

He abruptly stood, cutting her off as his chair scrapped over the marble floor. The girls stared up at him as he adjusted his tie and took a moment to school his expression into casual disinterest.

“I’m going to speak with Allura,” he said. “If you two are done with your henning, I will introduce you to her.”

“Finally,” Ezor exclaimed.

He glared as she stood. “You did that on purpose.”

“Boss, if we didn’t make you uncomfortable enough to forget your bout of cowardice, you never would have left this table,” Zethrid explained.

“I would have,” he grumbled.

“Yeah, sure…” Ezor laughed. “But you feel less nervous now, don’t you?”

He hissed. “I will not fire you tonight, but I am inclined to never invite you to another function again.”

“Aww, no fair,” Ezor whined.

“We’re the most entertaining people in this stuffy place,” Zethrid argued. “You gotta invite us more often.”

They certainly made the night less boring than it normally would be. He sighed and grudgingly accepted the fact he would have to endure their teasing and vulgarities. Hopefully they found some restraint after he spoke with Allura.

He caught Allura’s eye as he headed her way. He felt moderately offended when she gripped Shirogane’s coat and tugged, her eyes wide as she radiated nervous energy. She looked at him as if he were a predator, tracking her down to devour her, not the childhood friend she had been all too eager to speak with only a few weeks before.

Shirogane looked at Allura and then followed her gaze to him. There was a quirk in his smile, but its warmth did not lessen, though he squeezed Allura’s side in some comforting manner, drawing her in to whisper something in her ear. She took a deep breath, released it, and the tension in her shoulders appeared to leak away before she glanced his way once more with a weak smile.

He stuffed down his offense to greet her with the kindness and respect she deserved.

“Allura,” he said as he came to stand before her and the small group she had been conversing with. He ignored the other guests’ murmurs as he pressed a hand to his chest and inclined his head. “It’s a pleasure to see you this evening.”

“Ah, yes… A pleasure,” she said unconvincingly. “How have you been, Lotor?”

He swallowed down the urge to sigh at the question. He would have to suffer through the pleasantries and small talk until she lost whatever fears remained.

“I have been well. And you?”

“I have been good,” she offered.

Silence came as he sought a better subject to break the ice. A pull on the back of his jacket reminded him of the girls behind him.

“Ah, right,” he turned slightly and gestured to his dates. “I came over because I felt it only right to introduce you to my other two assistants. Ezor and Zethrid were the ones I tasked to…” He chuckled as her eyes widened with realization. “Infiltrate your family’s estate for some flowers.”

“Oh. Oh!” Allura brightened and the last remnants of tension vanished as she beamed at the two women. She thrust out her hand to greet the girls properly. “It is a pleasure to meet you. My mother said wonderful things about you.”

“She did?” Zethrid asked with a laugh as she took Allura’s hand. He almost swore he caught a blush, but he could not remember a time Zethrid blushed for anything except a compliment from Ezor.

“Your mom is the sweetest,” Ezor gushed as she enthusiastically took Allura’s hand to shake. “And her cookies were to die for.”

“Thank you. I will pass along the compliments.” Allura’s tinkling laughter lightened something in his chest and he could not restrain his smile as she turned toward him. “Ah, I suppose I should introduce you to my date. This is Takashi Shirogane.”

“Yes, I am familiar with him,” Lotor said as he took the prosthetic hand held out to him. “I know it must mean little now, and hardly repairs the damage done, but allow me to extend my deepest apologies for what my…” He sighed. “My family has put you through, Mr. Shirogane.”

“Just call me Shiro,” he said, chuckling in response. “And I appreciate the sentiments. Thank you.”

Lotor nodded. “My current position affords me more control over operations, but those… _laboratories_ fall under…” He struggled not to grimace at the foul taste in his mouth before he uttered, “my _mother’s_ direction. My assistant, Narti – who you met the other day, Allura – she was a subject in some of those trials when she was a child. I am disturbingly aware of the conditions you were subjected to. I assure you, if I can do anything to end such inhumane practices, I will.”

Shiro’s smile tightened. “I hope you can do something about it,” he said before smiling down at Allura with unabashed fondness. “At least I was fortunate to find myself in a better place after all that. I want nothing more than to see the same happen for anyone else that’s had to suffer.”

He wanted to turn around and hiss “Are you _sure_ he’s gay?” at Ezor, but curled his hands, pricking his palms with his nails to distract himself from the urge. He would only invite more of her mockery if he asked such an inane question. Not to mention, it was not his business who Shiro, or Allura – herself, chose to date.

If his assistants were mistaken, and Shiro was bi, then he was happy to see Allura with such a supportive and caring partner.

Ezor tugged on his sleeve, drew him down, and cupped her hand over his ear to whisper, “He’s playing it up. He’s still gay. Stop sulking.”

He pulled back to glare at her. He was _not_ sulking. He had no reason to _sulk_. Shiro’s sexuality and his relationship to Allura were not his business.

“Oh, hey, Zethrid! I think I see shrimp cocktail over there!” Ezor exclaimed, snagging Zethrid by the coat to drag her toward the hors d’oeuvres. “We’ll bring back some for you, boss!”

He glowered at their obvious retreat but brushed it off to focus on Allura. Her head cocked in confusion as she watched the girls scamper away.

“They must be famished,” he gave as an excuse. “Ezor took longer to prepare for the evening than she anticipated, I doubt she ate anything all afternoon. I’m surprised they did not attack the first waiter they saw upon walking in.”

Allura snickered. “Well, she looks lovely this evening, so it was worth the effort. And Zethrid looks quite handsome, too.”

“Her attire was simpler. No matter what dress Ezor chose, she was guaranteed to match.”

“She had a hard time choosing a dress, too?” Shiro asked with a laugh.

“Shiro,” Allura hissed at him in warning.

Her date merely grinned. “Allura got cold feet. I had to talk her out of changing her dress, too.”

Lotor chuckled at her surly pout. “I see.” He bowed his head. “You look lovely this evening, Princess,” he whispered to her. “I am glad you were swayed.”

She scrunched her nose and looked away, but not before he caught the faint blush spreading over her cheeks. “Thank you for the compliment.”

“Oh, the line at the bar has gone down,” Shiro said, finally removing his arm from Allura’s waist. “I’ll get you another glass of chardonnay.”

“But I still have…” Allura began to stammer, glancing down at the glass she held. It was nearly half full - until Shiro snatched it and downed it in one quick gulp. “Uhhh…”

“Be right back, Allura. Want me grab you something, Lotor?” Shiro asked, his smile much too friendly.

“No… I am fine…” He glanced down at Allura as her confusion melted into a glare.

“Shiro…” she hissed as her date began to walk away. She reached out to snag his jacket, but Shiro moved from her reach, his grin growing at her desperate attempt to stop him.

“You look like a red wine sort of guy,” Shiro said as he backed away, narrowly avoiding a collision with a short-statured elderly lady. “You sure you don’t want anything?”

“I… uhhh…” He gaped in confusion.

Allura stomped her foot. “Shiro.”

“I’ll surprise you,” Shiro said, and then he was gone, melting into the crowd before Allura could stop him.

Lotor turned his gaze down. Allura crossed her arms and glared in Shiro’s direction, her lips pursed, and then she sighed and sagged forward.

“I am… _very_ confused right now, Princess,” Lotor remarked.

She glanced up at him, then shut her eyes and sighed again. “Feel free to call him Shiro the Hero all night, and if you do not wish to dance with anyone, send them his way.”

“That does not clear up my confusion at all.” He chuckled. “But I will happily oblige.”

That earned a smile from her – small and shy, but a smile all the same. She straightened and looked to the other side of the room. Her smile vanished. “I believe they set us up.”

“Hmm?” He followed her gaze to find Zethrid and Ezor standing by the hors d’oeuvres. The former had three shrimp in her mouth and was preparing to fit a forth. The latter watched them with an enthusiastic grin. Both girls gave a thumbs up as soon as he caught them.

He frowned and searched the other side of the room until he found Shiro chatting with the bartender. He glanced over his shoulder, grinned, and gave his own thumbs up.

“Odd,” he murmured.

“Quite,” Allura agreed.

Awkward silence returned, one he sought to end only to find himself tongue-tied as he looked down at the nervous woman before him. She clasped her hands in front of her and wrung them together. Her gaze flit about the room, looked down at the floor, and then cast everywhere but at him. She chewed her lip and the blush on her cheeks brightened.

“I… umm… I suppose…” She cleared her throat and looked up at him through her lashes. “You look… you look rather lovely yourself tonight.”

The compliment, as timid and anxious as it was, still had the same effect that her smile had on him. He relaxed, cocked his head, and smiled. “I do?”

She nibbled her lip again, and then forced herself to straighten. “Yes… quite princely, even.” A snicker escaped her. “Though, it may just be the coattails. It gives you the air of a noble attending court.”

He could not restrain his grin. “I will have to inform Dayak of that compliment.”

“Dayak?”

“Yes. She suggested I attend and was very adamant I choose my attire to look noble. Oh, I forgot to mention, she sends her regards and is remiss that she was not able to accompany me. She hopes to see you again in the future.”

“I… Oh…” She blinked in surprise before lighting up. “I hope she is well.”

“She is.”

“Please tell her I say hello.”

“Of course.”

“So, tonight was her idea?”

He chuckled at the suspicion in her tone. “It was. As far as I was concerned, Arus remained exclusively an Altea function, but she informed me that your father has continued his tradition of paying for my father and mother to attend, even if they are no longer formally invited. Or, for that matter, welcome at all.”

Her lips pursed with a frown. “So, you took advantage?”

“In a way, yes. _But_ , unlike my father, I was more than happy to pay for my plate, as well as my guests’, and made a generous donation to hopefully make up for years of entitlement and rudeness on my father’s part.”

“In other words, you bribed them to let you in.”

He snorted. “If that is how you wish to see it, then I suppose it is a fair judgement. But all the money goes to a good cause, one that I am more than happy to support any way I can.”

Her eyes narrowed. “How _did_ she know I would be here tonight? Normally my parents are the one to attend.”

“It is hardly a national secret that your father is in New York as we speak,” he pointed out. “And Dayak informed me that she still has friends within Altea.”

Allura’s suspicion grew, but as her gaze cast away he decided that the feeling had less to do with him and more about the identity of Dayak’s informant.

“I take it you are here tonight to garner support for Voltron,” he remarked.

“Yes, that is the idea behind my attendance.” He had her full attention, no longer veiled in anxiety and suspicion. Her posture straightened, her chin lifted, and her eyes firmly met his as she took on the demeanor of a business woman.

“I’m curious what you mean to do with the foundation, or are you merely continuing the work of our fathers and their compatriots?”

“It will be similar in some manner – still focused on providing aide to countries and people who need it. But we are aiming to do more on infrastructure problems in war-torn nations that are finally coming to know peace again. They will need the most help in repairing those systems if they hope to thrive again.”

“A very reasonable approach.”

“That is what I thought, but we will not stop there. Just the other day, one of my division leaders suggested an educational and cultural exchange program to help us further understand the personal needs of these people. I do not want to throw the same aide at everyone without fully knowing what it is they truly _need_ and are willing to accept.”

He hummed in agreement. “Infrastructure and education. You are taking on quite a bit with just those two.”

“But it will be worth it in the end.”

“I do not disagree.”

“Better roads, cleaner water, strong education – it will all weave together to provide a populace with the bare necessities for a happy life, a chance to grow from there on their own without relying on outside sources that will waver in their commitments.”

“A noble endeavor.”

“Oh, and there is the health program. I want to train local healers and doctors – this ties in to the education program – so that there is better access to healthcare in remote and rural regions around the globe. I’ve been working on more cost-effective, easily transportable medical devices at Altea for a few years now, and I hope to put that research into this program.” She huffed in annoyance. “It drives Romelle mad, but I want everyone to be healthy and happy, no matter if they can pay or not. My father is more than willing to donate and provide for the foundation, but Altea is still a business and there is an expectation that they will at least break even on my research. I couldn’t care one whit about the money, though.”

Her passion was breathtaking. Her selflessness beyond admirable.

“Perhaps I should write you a check,” he said.

“Oh! Oh no! I don’t mean…” She pressed a hand to a flushed cheek. “I got carried away with my pitch. I’ve repeated it so many times tonight.”

“I hope you left out the part about Romelle when you spoke with the Olkari representative,” he teased, chuckling when she smacked her hand to her forehead.

“I did, but I should not have mentioned that to you. I… probably should not have said as much as I did.”

“You hardly divulged any trade secrets.” He leaned forward to whisper conspiratorially, “And if you ever do, I swear on my life that I will never share them with anyone.”

She winced. “I will trust you not to, but… It would still be best if I mind my tongue with you.”

He could not help glancing down to her lips, but quickly caught himself before his gaze could linger longer than appropriate. “Probably.” He cleared his throat and clasped his hands behind his back. “I am curious of this research. Not the details, mind you… Unless you wish to divulge them. It’s just you seem passionate about it, and I would love to hear more. Ah…” He glanced toward the bar where Shiro continued to chat with the bartender. Was he flirting with the man? He shook his head and focused on Allura. “Shiro’s arm? Did you play a part in its design?”

She brightened at the question. “I did…” And then she dimmed. “I still have a long way to go. My father had to help with much of the engineering work, but the basic design and biological compatibility models were based on my research. I have tried to study mechanical and electrical engineering so I do not need to rely on my father for help in the future, but…” She sighed. “It does not come as easily as I would like. It’s quite frustrating, in fact.”

“Well, you _are_ running an entire non-profit foundation now, not to mention whatever obligations you still have to Altea. Such studies can be time consuming, and you are already doing so much. It does no harm to rely on those who can help you and give yourself time to learn whatever else you desire.” Her eyes glistened, but he was glad to see the light return to them. “The fact you are willing to do so much to improve yourself is worthy of respect. Even if you stumble a bit, you still strive to do more than many others would. And that arm’s design is quite genius. The biological integration you designed for it renders it far more lifelike than others I’ve seen. It is an accomplishment to be proud of.”

She positively beamed at him. “Thank you.”

“You are most welcome.”

“Oh! I have been rambling about myself this whole time and have not asked you anything. How rude of me.”

“It is quite all right, Princess. I take no offense and you are welcome to continue.”

“No, no… it is not all right. My etiquette tutors would have my hide if they witnessed this.”

He chuckled. “Well, I do not want to see you subjected to their switch, so ask me whatever you wish.”

Her expression filled with pure delight, she opened her mouth to speak, and then snapped it shut as she sagged and glowered in thought. He canted his head to the side, bemused by her speechlessness, as well as the sudden consternation that furrowed her brows. After a moment she huffed and turned a wary look on him.

“I know this is… well, it’s very impolite given the setting, and I do apologize, but there is something I am curious about,” she began.

“And what is that?”

She held up a hand as if to defend herself. “Now, this was in no way my idea, and I was not pleased when I found out what my employee engaged in…”

He struggled not to smile at her disclaimer. It was adorably amusing, especially with what he suspected her question to be about. He could not give anything away too soon.

“Of course,” he said. “I will try not to hold this against you. Though, I am not yet sure what you are apologizing for.”

Her lips pursed for a moment, and then she said it. “ _Sincline._ ”

“Hm? That word sounds familiar. Is it something I should be aware of?” he asked while thinking to himself -  _She does not remember._

“I would certainly hope so.” Her tone was filled with offense, leading him to wonder if perhaps she did remember the name. That thought was squashed by what she said next. “They bought Puig only days after my offer was turned down, with a stipulation that your contract would be honored.”

“Ah, yes. I remember now. Still… such a strangely familiar name. I swear I have heard of it somewhere else,” he mused aloud, hoping it would jog her memory.

“I have no idea, but the company itself has only existed for a few weeks.”

He hummed.

“And it appears its first act was to swoop in and take a factory from me.”

“And here I thought that was my doing,” he teased, earning a sharp glare from the irate woman. “Did you have a specific question about that particular acquisition?”

“I was hoping you knew more about it. I also thought it odd when I saw the length of Galra’s contract. Only a month?”

“Yes, I did it to buy them time until they could find a better solution to their problems.”

“They _had_ a better solution.”

“ _That_ I disagree with. I told you, Allura, my father would have destroyed Puig out of sheer spite if you bought it.”

“Your father is in hospital. He does not need to know, and you do not seem inclined to enact his more violent solutions.”

“I do not, no, but there are others with authority who have no qualms about undermining my orders. And if no one went behind my back to do as my father would, then the moment my father retook the helm and learned of your acquisition, he would send out every mercenary he knew to shut it down.”

He knew she understood his reason when her eyes turned downcast. But she still sought an argument to counter his, her whole demeanor remained tense with frustration as she wrung her hands together and clenched her jaw.

“The only way your solution would have worked,” he continued softly, “is if my father had died, leaving the company entirely in my hands. As it stands, I have to do what I can to maintain some version of the status quo and find other ways to subvert my father’s form of order. I will not allow Galra to crumble so long as it is mine to hold.”

She pursed her lips and gave a single nod to accept the nature of their reality. Nothing would ever be so simple, no matter how much they may wish it so.

“Then, do you know anything of Sincline? What sort of company they are? Anything? I saw they also acquired one of my father’s refineries, but that hardly tells me what their intentions are.”

“The information one gains from corporate espionage can be quite fickle.” He chuckled as she straightened and blushed. “As promised, I do not think any less of you for engaging in such practices.”

“It was hardly anything. He just gathered a few bits of information from an anonymous source. There were no acts of sabotage.”

“No, I would know if there were. I believe you. But why do you think I would know anything about this other company?”

“I just think it odd how swiftly they snatched that factory, with a deal that ensures Galra’s cooperation in the sale. I would have brushed it off as coincidence, but the fact they bought an Altea facility, too, leads me to wonder if they are a Galra subsidiary or under their umbrella of influence.”

“I can assure you that they are not tied to Galra in such a way. Their operations are completely independent of the corporation.”

“Then you know about it?”

“Perhaps I know a bit… Ah, Shiro.” He turned at the welcome interruption as her date approached, balancing three glasses as he wove through the other guests. “The hero has finally returned to the princess’s side.”

Shiro flushed as he held out a glass of red wine for Lotor. “Yeah, sorry, got a little caught up in conversation.”

“Yes, you seemed quite engrossed.” He took the glass, lifted it in toast of gratitude, and then had a sip. A fruity merlot – not a bad choice. “Your timing is perfect. I was growing parched from my own engrossing conversation.”

He could not fathom why Allura blushed as she took a drink of her fresh chardonnay, but the look Shiro gave her said he had a clue. He knew there would be no explanation forthcoming and decided it best to make a retreat before Allura could direct the conversation back to Sincline.

But first he felt an urge to give her a tiny hint on the answers she sought.

He held out a hand to her. “I will leave you to continue your networking, Princess,” he said, smiling as she warily slipped her hand into his. He bowed his head, held her gaze, and brushed his lips over her fingers. Her lips parted in a silent gasp and his smile grew. “I wish you luck in all your endeavors.” He straightened before leaning in to whisper in her ear, “May you slay all the dragons set before you.”

He pulled back to see her brows knit.

“I… thank you…” she stammered quietly. “I wish you well in your ventures,” she added politely, though her mind seemed stuck on his cryptic hint.

He turned to shake Shiro’s hand. “I look forward to what you and Allura bring to the world with the foundation,” he said.

“Thanks. And good luck to you at Galra.” Shiro glanced down at Allura before leaning in with a soft smirk. “Just, whatever you do, try not to piss her off again. I’m her gym buddy, and she hits harder when she’s upset.”

“Shiro,” Allura shouted.

Lotor chuckled. “I will keep that in mind, but I cannot make any promises.”

Allura waved her hands between them as she fumed. “I did not take my anger out on him. Only a punching bag. Do not listen to him.”

“You’ve still thrown me across a room.”

“That had nothing to do with anger,” she shouted at Shiro before turning to him. “We were sparring. It was purely an accident.” She swatted her date’s arm. “Do not give people such a violent idea about me.”

“Shiro did not need to inform me of anything to know you are a sight to behold, and be wary of, when angered.” He grinned down at Allura’s irate huff. “But it is good to have the reminder. I will do my level best not to offend you in such a way in the future.” He turned away from her glare, burying the urge to chuckle. “Enjoy your evening, Princess.”

Ezor and Zethrid brightened when they noticed his approach. The latter’s mouth remained stuffed with delicacies, leaving Ezor to eagerly press him for details.

“So? You two seemed to be getting along well,” she hinted.

“Yes, though she noticed that you and her date somehow conspired to leave us alone. How did you manage that?” he asked as he plucked a salmon croquette from a plate. Dinner would be served soon, but as the knots in his stomach began to unwind, he found himself as famished as his dates.

“Lots of hand-waving.” Ezor grinned. “Told you he’s not interested in her like that.”

“Hmm, I suppose you were not wrong, though he may have thought it polite to give us time to catch up. Perhaps he is secure in his place at her side, and sees no need to be jealous of another person’s attention to her?”

Ezor shrugged. “Maybe, but I doubt it. You are free to woo her or whatever you high society types do.”

He shook his head. “I have no desire to any such thing.”

“Sure, boss,” Zethrid said after finally swallowing. “We’ll see about that.”

“I am only interested in smoothing out the tension between our families, or at least between she and I as heirs to our respective sides in this obnoxious feud.” He cleared his throat and waved toward the stairs. “Shall we retake our seats, ladies? Dinner should be soon.”

He hoped dinner provided the girls with ample distraction. Their continued efforts to pick apart his stated motives would do him no service, only highlight just how muddled they had become since seeing her again.

He needed to focus on his ambitions, his designs, his goals. Allura was a key to his success. He could not forget that no matter how radiant she was as she spoke of her own plans for the future. He could not lose himself to sky-blue eyes and moonlight hair and a smile as breathtaking as all the stars in the universe.

Her friendship – sincere and true – was all he desired from her. Nothing more. Nothing less.


	7. The Benefit Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reminiscing on time lost, taking advantage of time gained, and there was never any harm in partaking in some friendly competition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for how long it took me to finish this chapter, but I hope it is well worth the wait. It's much longer than I expected it to be, so that should make up for it.
> 
> Lots of fluff, and Ezor and Zethrid continue to be very crude wing-women. They're just trying to help.
> 
> I make a few references to some more... uhhh... /problematic/ things from S8 regarding Alfor's and Coran's patriarchal attitudes, but since this is my fic, I'm changing that bullshit because they should be better than that.

The evening had gone by more pleasantly than her nerves had anticipated, though her mind was riddled with more distractions than she would have liked thanks to her conversation with Lotor. It was amicable enough – in fact, she quite enjoyed speaking with him. She enjoyed it so much that she did not torture Shiro for abandoning her, at least not to the extent she might have if her conversation had soured her mood. The conversation ended too soon for her liking, left her with questions he did not seem inclined to answer, and what he whispered in her ear nagged at her thoughts in a way that told her it was a clue to the answer she sought but no matter how much she racked her brain, she could not glean any insight from it.

It did not help that she had others to speak with after, but in every quiet moment, when her gaze trailed over the room in search of white hair towering over most everyone there, she wondered on those dragons he spoke of. Was it merely a jest, referring to their days as children where they would take up wooden swords and play at fighting each other or the overgrown hedges by the tennis courts? There had been something in the gleam of his eye that said there was a deeper meaning, but whenever she thought the answer was right there, right on the tip of her tongue, another person would come over to chat and she would have to focus on her needs for Voltron.

And when she did not think about dragons and games and mysterious companies snatching up properties before she could, her mind drifted to thoughts of the prince and the way her fingers still tingled with the memory of his chaste kiss.

It was hardly a kiss. Silly of her to think of it as one. His lips brushed her skin in a manner that was polite and respectful, nothing like the sloppy, wet smacks some men might press to a lady’s hand in a cheap attempt to appear gentlemanly, hoping to disguise their more lascivious desires. No, his kiss was brief, nothing more than a gentle caress, a puff of warm breath, and a lopsided smile that made her stomach flip pleasantly as a shiver traced up her arm and another tickled over her spine, leaving her mind a pile of mush as she tried to maintain some sense of composure.

She never fully understood how a storybook princess could swoon over a prince at nothing more than a smile, but in that moment she found herself dangerously close. It was silly and childish and she wished she could forget that feeling. It was only Lotor, for heaven’s sake! There was no reason to flush and faint over _Lotor_ , no matter how charming he could be.

Yet still, as she sat at her table after dinner had been cleared, idly picking at her dessert, her eyes lingered on the man on the other side of the room as he spoke with another guest. The other guests had gradually warmed up to him as the night went on. She had caught him in the middle of group conversations, smiling and chuckling along with them when he did not have them captivated by whatever he had to say. There would be a lull in his conversation when he would take a sip of wine and his gaze would cast her way as if he always knew exactly where she stood, and the twirl in her stomach would reappear at his knowing smile and the subtle tilt of his glass to acknowledge her. She would quickly look away, pretend that she had not been caught staring, and force herself to pay attention to half the conversation she had missed while watching him.

Shiro lived up to his moniker as he kept the flow of conversation moving while her mind wandered. His efforts to continue the pitch for Voltron were nothing short of heroic, and if there was ever a fervent need for her attention, he would gently nudge her leg with his to draw her back in as he repeated any question that only she could answer.

She almost felt guilty for encouraging him to accept an invitation to dance with one of the older women who was enamored by him, but she was still a little cross about earlier.

Guests had taken to the dance floor to burn off their dinners while the hosts prepared the stage for the auction. Allura successfully fended off the few requests made to her for a dance. She was rarely inclined to, not when it often resulted in sore feet, crushed toes, and, rarely, a stinging palm when a partner grew too bold in where they put their hands – forgetting themselves, and forgetting that her father was not above rolling up his sleeves and engaging in fisticuffs for his daughter’s honor, as was his best friend, no matter how old-fashioned the behavior was.

Coran had once challenged a man to a proper duel. Even took off a glove to slap the man across the face. She wanted to blame the brandy he drank that night, but she had a suspicion he would make that challenge while sober.

 _What would they do if I danced with Lotor?_ she mused to herself, snickering as she toyed with the rim of her wine glass. She could imagine her father and Coran stalking them about the room. Her father would sweep her mother up in his arms and follow them over the dance floor, watching and waiting for Lotor to do something he should not. Or perhaps they would leave it alone. Her father still seemed to have a soft spot for her old friend. He might cautiously trust them to behave themselves, but surely he would still keep an eye on them in case Romelle’s suspicions proved correct.

The thought of what Romelle would do if she danced with Lotor nearly made her spit out her wine as she laughed into a sip. That woman would not hold back. She would do everything she could to separate them. She might even try to literally tear them apart.

“What’s so amusing you’re laughing to yourself over here?” Shiro asked as he threw himself into the seat beside her, drawing her attention away from the sharp smile she had been staring at far too much that evening.

“Nothing,” she said.

Shiro’s brow rose as he stretched back in his seat and loosened his tie. A bead of sweat lingered at his temple and his expression, though amused, appeared exhausted.

“How was your dance?” she asked before he could make a comment on her wandering thoughts.

Shiro sighed. “My feet are killing.” She looked down to his once polished dress shoes and grimaced at the scuffs. “And her husband is a Thatcher fan.”

“Ew.”

“Yeah, she was… not horrible, but she felt it necessary to inform me that her husband did not approve of my lifestyle.” He rolled his eyes. “She told me to ignore people like that – as if I don’t already. Then I think she tried to grab my ass.”

“Oh. I’m so sorry, Shiro.” She gave his hand a consoling pat. “I promise I will not force you to dance again tonight.”

“I appreciate it.” He propped a foot on his knee as he tried to rub his abused toes. “Now, what were you laughing about?”

“Nothing.” She took another sip of wine as he stared skeptically. “I might have just had too much to drink.”

“Nope, you were laughing about something, and I’d guess it has to do with Lotor since you’ve been staring at him all night.”

“I have not been staring all night.”

“Yeah, you have. And when _you_ haven’t been staring at him, he’s been staring at you.”

“What?” She snapped her head around to see Lotor watching from the other side of the room. She hastily turned away when his brow arched. “No, he hasn’t.”

Shiro laughed so hard he had to clutch his stomach. “You just caught him, and you still try to deny it.”

“It was probably a coincidence.”

“Allura, you don’t have to hide anything from me,” he said as she pouted before glancing around her. His smile grew as he leaned in to whisper to her. “Beautiful man in a beautiful suit draws the eye. I don’t blame you for checking him out all night.”

Her face heated, and she spluttered to deny what he said, but Lotor _did_ look good. Frustratingly good. His dark blue suit drew out the subtle purple tone of his eyes, and the cut drew her gaze over his broad chest and trim waist. As she told him – the coattails added a flare of nobility to his appearance. The flash of orange on his tie and pocket square made him stand out from all the other men who wore basic black or charcoal grey. His long hair was tied back in a low tail, accentuating his sharp jaw, and making him look even more princely. The errant lock of hair that insisted on hanging in front of his face had an endearing charm. It drove her insane how much her fingers wished to play with that rebellious lock. She wanted to know if it was as smooth and soft as it looked.

“Don’t think too much about it,” Shiro continued. “He’s just another attractive guy…” His eyes flit up. “And he’s coming over again.”

Her back straightened and she glanced over her shoulder to see Lotor weaving his way through the guests. The swirl of butterflies she had successfully ignored while they spoke earlier returned with a vengeance. The flutter grew into a frenzy as his long strides closed the distance in seconds.

“Allura,” Lotor began as soon as he stood in front of her, his hands politely clasped behind his back, “I thought I would be remiss if I did not ask you for a dance.”

Her jaw slackened, and her heart pounded furiously. “You… you want to dance? With me?” Her question felt dumb and she decided to blame it on the wine.

“We have been denied the opportunity for all these years, and this may be our only chance for some time,” he explained as he held out a hand. “May I have the honor, Princess?”

Her stomach flipped at his soft, gentle tone. She lifted her hand without a thought, reaching out to take his, but hesitated when she remembered she had a date. She glanced at Shiro who propped his chin in the palm of a hand and smiled as he shooed her off.

“I won’t be long,” she promised.

“Go. Have fun. Don’t worry about me.”

It took every shred of control she had to keep herself from leaping out of her seat. She should not be so eager to dance with him, but she could not help it. Lotor was right. The feud had robbed them of the opportunity to indulge in their childhood fantasy. They may never be able to have the friendship they had before, but she could enjoy that one night and revel in one of the things she wished for since adolescence.

Lotor’s hand tenderly wrapped around hers as she stood. Warmth flooded through her at the simple touch and her heart raced at the soft smile he cast down at her. She wasn’t sure if it was him or the wine, but she felt heady with excitement as he led her to the dance floor.

“I should warn you,” she began as he turned to draw her close, stifling a gasp when his hand brushed over her waist. He held her at a respectful distance – not too close that she would feel stifled by his presence, but not so far that she would feel unwelcome as his partner. “I may not be that good. My toes always take a beating when I dance.”

Lotor chuckled as he squeezed her hand and waist. His smile grew, and he leaned down to quietly tease, “The fault for that is on your partner, not you. I promise not to abuse your feet, but if I make a misstep, you are welcome to return it.”

She grinned. “I will hold you to that.”

She was acutely aware of the way his thumb slid over her waist as he laughed. She fought back a shiver, focused on the simple waltz he guided her into, and insisted that the heat of her cheeks was solely because of the wine.

“What were you laughing at?” he asked, and she stiffened in surprise.

“When?” she asked, hoping that he did not refer to the same bout of mirth Shiro asked of.

“Just a moment ago, before Shiro returned to the table. I thought I saw you laugh to yourself. You were looking in my direction, so I wondered if perhaps I had done something amusing.”

She bowed her head to hide her embarrassment. “I was not laughing at you. I just had an amusing thought.”

“May I know what this thought was? Or was it personal?”

She pursed her lips and glanced up at him through her lashes. His expression was filled with genuine curiosity, perhaps a glint of mirth in his gaze, but he did not press for her to answer, save for a slight tilt of his head to encourage a response of some kind. She took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh.

“I was thinking about how my father and Coran tend to behave at these events when I dance with someone. They tend to be… _protective_ , to say the least. And I might have considered how they would react if I danced with you.”

His hand squeezed hers and his wide, sharp smile spread across his face. “So, you were thinking about dancing with me?” She rolled her eyes and huffed at his teasing tone. Of course, he would grasp onto that. She was about to retort when he leaned in to whisper, “I am glad to hear I was not the only one thinking about it.”

Her blush returned, along with the flutter in her chest. She needed to get a hold of herself. She should not be feeling flushed and giddy because he wanted to dance with her. He was hardly the first gentleman to ask her for a dance in her lifetime. She was not a teenager, dreaming wistfully of a dance with a beautiful prince. She was a grown woman, and her prince was a family rival. Even if he was polite and sweet, there was no meaning behind any of this. It was just one dance, a chance to make up for lost time while they could. After that night, they would return to business as usual.

She shook away her errant thoughts. She needed to focus.

“It was not just my father and Coran’s reaction that made me laugh,” she continued on once she felt her excitement for the dance was sufficiently doused. “I thought of how Romelle would react.”

Lotor’s mouth gaped. “Ah.”

“She would quite literally tear me away from you,” she added with a quiet laugh.

His shock melted into a soft smile. His hand tightened at her waist. Her heart pounded in her ears so loud she almost did not hear him whisper, “Then it is a good thing she is not here this evening.”

 _He is only being polite,_ she thought to herself. _There is no other meaning to his words, or his desire to dance. He’s only being polite. Just. Polite._

“Now I am curious how your father or Coran would react if they were here,” Lotor mused, a mischievous lilt in his voice. “How protective are they?”

She forced herself to focus on that thought, forgetting the flutter in her stomach as she laughed. “Well, before I had remembered a time when Coran took off a glove and slapped a man to challenge him to an old-fashioned duel once because his hand dipped a little too low to be appropriate.”

Lotor snorted. “A proper duel? With pistols or swords?”

“Well, Coran wished for pistols, but Lady Trigel was not about to allow _that_.”

“I could not imagine her appreciating bloodshed at a ball.”

“No, absolutely not. Coran settled on a fist-fight, but he was too drunk to get more than a graze on the man. After the commotion of that night, though, some of their friends began to keep dueling pistols loaded with blanks at their estates. They thought it would have been hilarious to watch a duel, without risk of fatality.”

“It would be at your expense, though. You would have to suffer through unsavory dance partners for their amusement.”

She rolled her eyes. “Which is why I rarely dance at these events unless I know my partner well enough to trust him.”

His tender smile brought her attention back to those pesky butterflies until he asked, “And what of your father? Has he challenged any would-be suitors to a duel?”

She laughed. “No duels, but he did get in a fist fight once when I was seventeen because my partner _did_ grab where he should not have. He did not think the slap I gave him was enough punishment.”

“A fist fight? I had imagined he would at least challenge them to a sword fight. He is a champion fencer, after all, and he _is_ your most noble knight.”

“If he had a sword on him, then he might have,” she said as she rolled her eyes and laughed. “He did take that self-appointed title much too seriously. Fortunately, he has since passed that station on to someone else.” She nodded toward Shiro. Lotor hummed his understanding. “Shiro is far less likely to attack someone for merely looking at me.”

Lotor’s gaze lingered on her date, his amusement dwindled into a pensive stare. “How long have you and Shiro been together?”

She nearly tripped over herself at the odd question. “I’m sorry? Been together?”

His gaze returned to her, as did that gentle smile. “Come now, no need to be evasive. You two seem close.”

“We… we might be close, but _not_ in that way. Why would you think that?”

Lotor’s shoulder lifted beneath her hand in a graceful shrug. “Body language, I suppose.”

She couldn’t help but snort at the thin reasoning. “He stays close to me to ward off unwanted attention…” She sighed. “And I suppose he has been trying to comfort me for most of the night. I _was_ very nervous earlier this evening.”

“But you’re not dating?”

“ _No_. Definitely not.” She glanced over her shoulder at Shiro. “I’m not his type. Not even close to his type.” When she turned back to Lotor, his head was cocked in silent question, and she rolled her eyes at his continued ignorance. Shiro was not in the closet, but it was not her place to speak of his personal life. Still, most everyone in that room knew because they bothered to read the papers. “He got the bartender’s number earlier. If you wish to know more about his _type_ , you can ask him yourself.”

She watched understanding dawn on him. “My assistants had mentioned it to me, but I was having a hard time believing them. As I said, his body language gave me a different impression. I apologize for asking such a personal question about you both.”

“I suppose I can forgive it. He has been –” She pursed her lips in thought “ – touchy this evening. Not in any uncomfortable way, but he does not keep an arm around me so often. I can understand why you would have an impression of a relationship between us.”

Lotor hummed, his thoughtful gaze once more on Shiro. “Well, if you were so nervous that you attempted to change your dress, I suppose he felt you were in greater need of comfort and support.”

Lotor did not sound convinced of his own reasoning, but it was the only reason that made sense to her.

The subject was brushed aside and she nearly jolted when Lotor’s full attention returned to her. That pesky, insistent flutter was going to drive her mad, yet she found it strangely pleasant.

“If your father and Coran were so willing to engage in fisticuffs and challenge men to duels for your honor, I can only imagine how frustrating your adolescence was,” he teased.

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, do not get me started.”

“Please, I am curious. I was not there to witness it myself. I must know what I missed.”

She released a long, grudging sigh. “Heavens know I love my father to the ends of the Earth, and I adore Coran more than anyone else, but…” Another sigh and roll of her eyes. “They can be rather… patriarchal in their attitudes and opinions.”

“How so?”

“They would have put me in a chastity belt when I reached puberty if they had access to one. I would likely still be in it.”

Lotor snorted and grinned when she shot him a glare.

“If you were there, you likely would have been the only boy I would be allowed to speak with. Though, I am sure there would be heavy restrictions, even then,” she continued. “We would not have one second alone.”

“I cannot believe they would be that overbearing. I can understand some brutishness with undesirable men, but they would not limit your friendships.”

“No, but my father _did_ send me to an all girl’s school in the hopes it would protect me from any male attention. He did not even consider I might receive similar attention from girls, or that I might prefer it. All he cared about was protecting my chastity from men, as though I truly was a princess of the dark ages, required to remain _pure_ for my intended.”

“It could not protect you entirely. You had your balls and events, after all.”

“Yes, but he and Coran could attend those to keep an eye on me. They could not stalk me around at school.” She huffed. “Though, I do not put it past them to try.”

Lotor chuckled. She glared at his amusement again.

“When I was fifteen, there was a boy in Cambridge that I had a crush on,” she began, the information sobering Lotor’s mood immediately. “It was an innocent thing. His father owned a candy shop I liked to visit, and he was pretty to look at. My father somehow found out. I had been out with my mother one day and we came home to find my father and Coran in the study, the boy sat in a chair looking utterly terrified as they questioned him. Coran even had a pipe and smoking jacket on. My father had his swords on display behind his desk, his father’s old hunting rifle was polished on the wall. It was this absolutely barbaric attempt at intimidating the poor boy. And as soon as he saw me, he went white as a ghost – quite the feat for as dark as he was - and fled the room without even a passing hello.” Her chest tightened with anger, her cheeks heated. “I was beside myself with fury. I screamed at my father, called him all manner of reprehensible things, and was grounded because of it.”

Lotor’s shoulders trembled with a silent laugh that she ignored as she felt an overwhelming urge to stomp her foot in indignation, just as she had back then.

“My parents got into a fight over the incident, too, but it did not change my punishment. I was to be locked away in my room for a month for calling my father a bloody wanker.”

Lotor’s eyes widened in shock and a chuckle broke free, but she was not done ranting.

“I slipped out of my room as soon as I had a chance, took a train to London, and did not return until late in the evening with pink hair and a navel piercing.”

“Ah, and thus began your teenage rebellion,” Lotor teased, his gaze pointedly slipping down to her abdomen. “Do you still have it?”

“That is none of your business,” she hissed.

“Please, Allura, I am a very curious man by nature…”

“Oh, do not use that as an excuse.”

“You brought it up, and now that curiosity is piqued. I will not be satisfied until I find out the truth.”

She scrunched her nose at him as she glared, and he bowed his head to hide his mirth.

“Just imagining it…” he continued. “You would have been positively adorable.”

Her cheeks heated but she huffed to hide her embarrassment. “Do not patronize me.”

“I am not patronizing you. I truly think you would have been cute with pink hair and a navel ring.” He swallowed another laugh. “A bubblegum princess turned pastel goth.”

“Do not make fun,” she snapped.

“I am not.”

“You are.”

Lotor snorted. “Perhaps a bit, but I do think it endearing. I am certainly the last person who can judge you for acting out against parental authority.”

The comment sobered her ire as she remembered his childhood would have been far worse. An old-fashioned father sizing up a potential love interest was the least of his worries, and any hasty decisions he made to rebel against his father would have come with far greater costs. She had received a scolding, and then a day later her father apologized. Her father tried to be supportive, and she knew he loved her. His overbearing actions were because he wanted to protect her – his actions were misguided, but his intentions were from a place of love.

She could not even imagine what Lotor had to endure as Zarkon’s son.

“I have my own piercings as a testament to my attempts at revolt,” Lotor said, snapping her attention back to him as he turned his head to the side.

She was confused by what he meant at first, but then she spotted them – two tiny holes in his earlobe. She acted without a thought and snagged his earlobe between thumb and forefinger, ignoring his gasp as she examined the holes. She had not noticed them before – they were too small to see without jewelry in them.

“You have a pierced ear,” she said as she continued to gape.

Lotor groaned as he leaned into her hold. “ _Ears_. Both are pierced.” She released his ear to allow him to turn his head so she could see the identical two holes in his other ear. “I rarely wear earrings now, but I have kept them open.”

She released a long breath. “I can only imagine how your parents must have reacted to that.”

He snorted, but the sound held no true humor to it. “My mother never took notice, but that would require her to be in the same room with me for more than a minute, or to actually care about my presence in the first place.” The snide tone of his voice hollowed out a pit in her chest. It ached for him. “But my father noticed.” He pursed his lips in a dark frown. “He threatened to rip my ears off to remove them.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

He had been looking over her head as he spoke, somewhere off in the distance, but at her gentle words his gaze snapped back down, eyes wide in surprise. “You have no reason to apologize,” he said, breathing out the words as his shoulders relaxed. The corner of his mouth lifted in something that resembled a tender smile, but it seemed too empty for her to believe it was genuine. “I should be the one apologizing. This is not a time for such a topic.”

She was at a loss for words. The air around them turned tense as she gazed down at their feet, how easily they moved together. He had not come close to stepping on her toes once, and she had avoided her own missteps as they spoke. They flowed well, but now she worried that they might lose that rhythm.

“What happened to him?” Lotor quietly asked.

She turned her gaze back up and cocked her head to the side. “To whom?”

“The boy you fancied that was the catalyst to your misbehavior.” Lotor’s smile was strained, but it appeared to come easier than a moment before.

She shook her head as a solemn laugh bubbled up in her chest. He was changing the subject, or at least returning it to safer territory. It was easier to discuss her experiences than it was to discuss his.

“I could not show my face in that candy shop,” she answered. “I was too mortified. Truly unfortunate, too. They made the best strawberry truffles.”

“So, losing the sweets was worse than losing the boy you liked?”

She snickered. “I told you it was just an innocent crush. I barely spoke to the boy beyond asking for chocolates. I cannot even say I _liked_ him. I just thought he was pretty.”

“So pretty that you turned goth when your affections would not be returned,” he teased.

She lightly swatted his shoulder but found herself laughing along with him. “I would hardly call myself _a goth_.”

“You were. You even showed me your phone case with a pink crystal skull on it. You were most definitely an adorable little pastel goth.”

She would have been irate with his teasing, but it had lifted the mood so she could not be too annoyed by it. And then she recalled what prompted her to show him the skull on her phone, gasping excitedly at the realization.

“ _You_ …” She could not finish her accusation as laughter returned. Lotor cocked his head and raised his brow, waiting patiently for her to catch a breath. “You were a goth, too.” He rolled his eyes but did not deny it. “Oh, I can just see you in all black, covered in spikes and studs.”

“I did not wear spikes.”

“Oh, but you did wear a mostly black wardrobe, didn’t you?” He glowered and grunted once as she giggled. “Oh! OH! I bet you had a skull belt buckle.” She watched his cheeks turn crimson and had to clasp a hand over her mouth to quiet her delighted squeal. “You did! How _adorable!_ Oh, I wish I could have seen that first-hand. What a pair we would have made.”

His annoyance vanished with a solemn smile. “What a pair, indeed,” he mused, shaking his head as he let out another laugh. “Though, I am glad you were not there to witness that period of my life.”

“What? Why?” She cocked her head and blinked up at his sad gaze.

He looked away with a quiet hum and then grimaced when he noticed her watching, waiting for an answer. He released a long sigh. “I do not harbor any regrets for my fashion choices at that time, despite how embarrassing they may be, but there are moments I am not proud of. I do not wholly regret them, for they helped shape who I am today… But it may be for the best that you did not know me back then.”

She pouted and wanted to argue, but Lotor’s jaw slackened and his eyes widened.

“Ah, I apologize for souring the mood of our conversation again,” he said.

“There is nothing to apologize for. I just… If there’s… If there is anything you wish to talk about, that you are comfortable talking about, then you should feel free to share. I want to know as much about what I missed out on as you do.”

Lotor shook his head. “There are some things best left in the past.”

She glowered, knowing that she could not push him to share as much as she had. If he did not want to discuss his past, she could not force him. She thought on how to change the subject, sought a topic that would be safer. She was about to ask if he still fenced when the quartet transitioned to a different song and Lotor’s steps faltered.

“Oh no,” he grumbled as he paused for a moment on the floor.

“What? What is it?” she glanced around to see what drew his annoyance, followed his gaze up to the musicians on stage. “Lotor?”

“This song…” He sighed and swept back into the dance steps. “When I called to arrange my attendance, they kept me on hold for over thirty minutes. I had to listen to this song on a loop the whole time.”

She snickered at his misery. “Not a fan of Pachelbel?”

“Not any longer, no,” he said with a snort.

“Do you need to step out for a bit so you don’t have to suffer through the song?” she asked.

His eyes widened. “Of course not.” His expression softened, his brows furrowed in thought. “Unless you wish to end our dance, I am more than capable of enduring a song.”

She thought it was her imagination when she saw a flash of disappointment in his gaze.

“Oh! No! I did not mean to imply that.” Her cheeks heated. “I just… I thought you… Perhaps you…”

Her stammering trailed off at his smile and she had to bow her head to hopefully keep him from noticing her blush.

“I am fine, Allura,” he said. “It is only a song, one I am sure I will ignore just as I did the last. I find our conversation and your company far more entertaining than anything they might play.”

Her face was on fire and she was certain the butterflies had multiplied. She could feel them flutter all the way to her fingertips, encouraging her to squeeze his hand and shoulder in the vain hope it would ease the odd tingle. She needed to change the subject, distract herself from the thought that perhaps he wasn’t just being polite.

But before she could find her voice, someone bumped into her back hard enough to send her toppling forward. Lotor caught her with ease, his arm wrapped tight around her waist, the hand that gripped hers nestled comfortably between them to keep them balanced. Her heart hammered wildly as she blinked in surprise at the sudden change in her position.

“Ezor,” she heard him growl, his low voice rumbling in the chest she found herself pressed against.

“Sorry, Boss,” Ezor called out across the dance floor. “Didn’t see you two there.”

There was a shriek of laughter somewhere behind her, followed by another growl from the man who held her even tighter. She took a deep breath in the hope it would calm her racing heart, but it only made the beat pick up faster than before.

Lotor smelled good. _Intoxicating_.

She could not place the scent he wore. It was something sweet and spicy all at once, with a warm, musky undertone that tempted her to pull closer and breathe him in. Every inch of her tingled, became hyper-aware of all the places he touched – the firm chest against her cheek, the arm around her back, the hand gripped tight to her waist, the tickle of his errant lock of hair as it brushed her temple.

A warm breath puffed against her ear, his smooth voice flooded through her veins.

“Are you all right, Allura?” he asked quietly.

His arm shifted, his hand slid over her until the heat of his skin burned at her lower back. She could not stifle her gasp or stop herself from tensing at the pleasant surge of electricity that raced through her.

“Allura?” he prompted, shifting away to look down at her. The concern in his tone was reflected in the furrow of his brow and the darkening of his blue eyes as they swept over her face. “Are you hurt?”

She shook away her stupor and straightened. “I am fine,” she said, cursing how breathless she sounded. Her cheeks were warmer than ever, but she forced herself to smile up at him and ease his worries. It was sweet that he was so concerned. “Just startled and a bit… uhhh… I might have had more to drink tonight than I thought. I feel a tad slow catching up.”

Lotor’s expression softened, but the knit of his brow gave away his worry. “Perhaps I should escort you back to your table.”

His hand began to slide away from her back, and she jolted at the touch of cold that hit her flesh. “No,” she rushed to say. Lotor ceased his retreat, much to her relief. His fingertips teased the lace edge of her dress and made her shiver in delight. “I – um – I mean… I am perfectly fine, and I would like to continue.”

He still seemed concern, a touch of doubt in the way his gaze flickered over her face, but it ebbed away with his gentle smile. “If you are certain,” he said as he eased them back into their dance. “But please, tell me if you feel weary. You do not need to force yourself to dance with me.”

“I am not forcing myself to do anything, Lotor. I _want_ to continue.” Her reassurance brought a spark of excitement to his eyes and his smile widened. He was stunningly beautiful when he smiled. “You are kind to be so concerned of my well-being, thank you.”

“Well, it was my assistant who ran into you, I feel partially responsible for their misbehavior.”

“It was an accident - hardly misbehavior.”

Lotor’s brow arched with obvious doubt, but she ignored the look rather than give in to those suspicions and what they may entail. She just wanted to dance, especially now that she was given an excuse to be closer to Lotor, with his hand firmly placed on her back, the heat of him guiding her across the floor so gracefully they may as well be dancing in the air without another soul around.

“So, I am curious what drove you to such lengths to attend tonight,” she prompted.

“Such lengths?”

“Yes. You must have felt a great need to attend the benefit if you were willing to be on hold and tortured with Pachelbel on a loop for so long.”

Lotor snorted. “Are you suspicious of my intentions?”

She hummed in thought, wondering how to answer that without offending him. She decided on the truth. “I suppose in some way I am, though I do not believe you have any villainous intentions by being here. I do wonder, though. You said yourself that Arus is an Altea function. For you to break the status quo of our fathers’ feud means you must have had a pressing need to attend.”

He fell silent, his gaze drifted over her head as he frowned, and she feared that she had offended him. But then he sighed and met her gaze once more. His smile returned, though not nearly as bright as it had been a moment before.

“I would be suspicious, too, if I was in your position.”

“I didn’t mean to offend, Lotor. I was just – ”

He interrupted her with a shake of his head. “No, I know your curiosity is not malicious. No need to apologize. I suppose, out of everyone here, you deserve an explanation the most.”

He took a deep breath and shifted his hold to pull her closer. She knew the adjustment was to afford them more privacy, but that did not stop her heart from racing as his whole presence filled her senses.

“My reasons are… a bit complex,” he began to explain so softly she almost did not hear. She leaned closer, as did he, to better understand him. “First and foremost, I wanted to see you again.” She gasped and pulled back, searching his expression for any sign of a lie. His smile seemed honest, open, and she felt it safe to take him at his word. “Even if we cannot be friends as we once were, that does not stop me from wishing we can build a new friendship. I like to think that there is hope for us, that we can, at the very least, be civil with each other, if not put an end to this silly feud between our families.”

She bowed her head as a pang struck her heart. She wanted to share in his hope, but she wondered if it was possible. His father would never let the war end. Her father might be willing to let his own hurt and anger go, but after so many years, she doubted he would move on so easily. And she could not pretend to be unaffected by it. All it took was one lost factory to remind her that Lotor’s work at Galra was counter to her own goals and ambitions. They would clash again, and their civility would be lost. They could be amicable at a charity benefit now, but would that last?

“Allura,” he whispered, drawing her gaze back up to his solemn smile. “I understand that hope is not as simple as I would like. You have a right to make your own decisions in that regard, I cannot force you to overlook all the turmoil and animosity this feud has nurtured, but if some part of you, no matter how small, shares in that hope, I want you to know that I will always extend a hand of friendship to you – our fathers’ opinions be damned.”

The threat of tears stung her eyes. She wanted to trust his words, she wanted to share in that hope without a single reservation. She wanted her friend back, and there he was offering to return something that had once been so precious. She could have her prince, he no longer had to be the dragon she had presumed him to be. He could be her friend again, perhaps not as they once were, but in some manner. The very thought of turning him down left her feeling bereft, as though she was willfully sacrificing a piece of herself and not receiving anything better in return.

His thumb brushed over her back as he whispered her name again. His voice echoed with the same pain and fear she felt, an unspoken plea as he curled in, made himself smaller as he comforted her.

“You do not have to give an answer now,” he said. “I came tonight to give us time to speak, nothing more. I do not expect you to change your mind in a single evening, I only want you to know exactly where I stand.”

She sniffled and pushed down the lump forming in her throat, willing her sadness away at his reassurance. She did not have to decide yet. She could take her time, consider his offer, consider what exactly she desired and the most reasonable course to move forward.

She nodded, forced a smile, and watched Lotor return the pained expression with one of his own. She could see the distant hope he held onto.

“What other reasons did you have to come tonight?” she asked, determined to move the conversation away from the tragedy their friendship entailed.

“Ah, well, the other reasons are purely for business,” he admitted as he straightened to his full height. “Before you get cross with me, just know that I am not poaching investors away from Voltron.” Just the mention of it annoyed her. “I want you to succeed, Allura. _Truly_. But I have my own ambitions – _separate_ from my father’s. While I hope one day to have full control of Galra so that I may change it into something better, draw it away from its barbaric practices and outdated ideals; I cannot expect the company to be handed to me upon my father’s retirement or death. In the meantime, I want to make a place for myself, here in London, to work toward my goals and create something my parents would never consider feasible in their lifetime.”

“So, you are here searching for investors. Why not seek out those familiar with your family? You must know that your reception here would be cold, that any potential investors would be wary of you. These people are suspicious of your family, Lotor. Even if you have the best of intentions, they will be difficult to win over.”

Lotor chuckled. “That may be, but they are the exact people I would rather do business with. My father’s people are as short-sighted and obstinate as he is. They refuse to change. They may agree to meet with me for my name alone, but they would question every idea I have and try to push their own agenda. And that is the best I can hope for from them.”

“And the worst?”

“They report my ideas to my father, and I find myself exiled from the country yet again because I dared to use his connections to further my own ambitions.”

“Exiled? You’ve been exiled this whole time?” She gasped. “That is why I never saw you at any events.”

“That, and my father would never have allowed me to attend an event if an Altea was to be present.”

“How can he even exile you? You are a grown man, you can do as you please. He is not a monarch, or dictator, or any such thing. He cannot dictate how you live your life.”

“In theory, I can do whatever I want, but there is a trust hanging over my head… And…” His lips pursed into a tight frown as he looked away. “It is not so simple. If I want control of Galra in the future, I cannot defy my father too much.”

“But if you are looking for investors for your own venture, does that mean you are going to defy your father’s will?”

He hummed thoughtfully. “My father… well… he does not put much faith in my ideas. He will ignore me so long as my plan does not directly compete with him, and even if it did compete, he would expect me to fail in the long run.”

She had reason enough to hate Zarkon, but to hear that he had no faith in his son, and that his son just accepted that as a fact of his life – she resented the man that much more.

Lotor sighed. “And this is where I may draw your ire again…”

She cocked her head. “What do you mean?”

“Your presence has greatly helped me break the ice with potential investors.”

“How so?”

“As you said, these people distrust me because of my father. I do not want their opinions of me shrouded by the resentment they harbor for him. I am tired of living in his shadow. But, since they have seen us converse civilly, I have shown these people that I will not sink to my father’s aggression and pettiness. It is all thanks to you that I can be seen in a better light.”

“So, you are using me to soften your image?” Annoyance pricked her, but she held back her anger as Lotor squeezed her hand in a silent bid she allow him to explain.

“Yes, _but_ my offer of friendship is true and genuine. My desire to see you tonight was the driving force behind my decision to attend and what helped me endure Arus’s attempts to shun me without explicitly telling me to fuck off. These guests all could have continued to give me the cold shoulder, and it would not matter to me. I would be disappointed, but not surprised. I would have been greatly consoled just by having the chance to speak with you again, and my failed efforts would have been worth it just to have the pleasure of your company for a few brief moments.”

She glared as her anger began to fizzle at his flattery. Could she truly believe that his business interests came second to his personal ones?

“If I had not attended tonight, you would not have bothered with this event,” she stated.

“No, I would not have,” he admitted.

“I should really be angry with you,” she muttered. “You are just using me.”

“While that may technically be true, it is not that simple. I could have no other ambitions, no desires or goals in terms of my professional career – be it with the corporation or any other – and I would have gone to the lengths I did to attend tonight just to see you. My desire to see you was at the forefront of my mind when Dayak informed me of your attendance. The benefit had not even crossed my mind before she came to me. It was an opportunity to see you. Once I secured my seats, that was when I considered what else I might stand to gain.”

She continued to glare. “I _really_ should be angry with you.”

Lotor slowly smiled. “But you’re not,” he said knowingly.

“But I really _should_ be,” she snapped. “I do not like feeling used.”

“I will make it up to you,” he promised.

She rolled her eyes. “More flowers and sweets?”

“Perhaps,” he said with a playful lilt to his voice.

She huffed. “I _really_ want to be mad at you for this.”

He chuckled as he leaned forward to whisper, “But you’re not,” in her ear. She shivered as he held her closer, his thumb teasing over her spine. “And even if you were, you must admit, we have been having a very good time together this evening.”

She had enjoyed his company, and that was why she wanted to be angry. For a moment, she felt as though he had tricked her, that it had all been an elaborate ruse, that all their laughter and merriment was one-sided. She hated how the mere thought of it being false hurt so much.

Lotor sighed, his hand squeezed hers. “Allura, I must confess that there have been days where the dream of dancing with my princess in a field of juniberries again was all I had to keep moving forward. Even if that dream was doomed to never be a reality, I still clung to that hope, so being here with you now is truly the best part of the evening.” He pulled back so she could see the worried knit of his brow, and she found that she wanted to believe him. “The other guests could have treated me like plague infested vermin, and I would not care one whit so long as you did not look at me with such hatred and disgust, too. I am eternally grateful for the kindness and warmth you have given me tonight.”

The music faded and the guests pulled apart to clap as a host took the stage to announce that the auction would begin in a few minutes. Her body went cold the moment Lotor released her, souring the hurt and uncertainty that lingered. She stared at him as they joined the polite applause for the departing string players, trying to piece together what she felt about all he said.

Why would he admit to having a professional purpose to his attendance if he knew it might anger her? Why would he so vehemently insist that his primary interest was in seeing her? Was it still a ruse to keep her complacent, suiting his purpose in warming potential investors to the image he wished to project? Or did he truly wish to be honest, even if that honesty harmed his goals, because he genuinely desired her friendship?

She was confused and uncertain where things should stand with him. So much of what he said reflected her own desires – once buried and brushed off as a youthful dream, then dug up again at the first sight of him, only to be buried yet again at the reminder that there were too many obstacles that stood between them.

“Allura?” Lotor prompted as he gestured to her table. “Shall I escort you back to your seat?”

She pursed her lips and gave a short nod. “Please.”

She thought she heard him sigh. His expression appeared wary, but his brow relaxed at her acknowledgement.

When his hand brushed the small of her back as they walked off the dance floor, the flutter returned to her stomach, but rather than filling her with giddy excitement, the sensation only saddened her.

“Allura?” he whispered, an urgency to the unspoken question put into her name. His grip firmed on her back, his body turned toward her and he leaned in just enough to signal his expectation for an answer, an explanation, _something._

“I am not angry,” she whispered. “But I am hurt.”

“That was not my intention,” he said with a sigh. “I am very sorry to have hurt you, but I thought you deserved the whole truth.”

“I do appreciate your honesty. I am sure the hurt will pass.”

“My desire for your friendship is true.”

“I believe you.”

“Do you?”

His question gave her pause and she glanced up to see that worried knit had returned to his brow. She forced a smile. “I do. Or, at least, I _want_ to believe you.” She pulled away and spun to face him. She needed the distance to keep her head clear and calm the emotions battling inside her. “I… I want the same,” she admitted as she brought her hands up to clench over her chest. “But…”

“But?” he prompted as he reached out for her. His hand stilled, hovering just over her elbow as she tensed, so near that she could feel the heat of him tease her flesh but never make contact. She waited, anticipated his touch, but then he sighed, his hand falling away. “You must guard yourself,” he stated, finishing the thought she had not given voice to. There was a smile that did not meet his eyes as he inclined his head toward her. “I understand. Thank you, Allura, for giving me so much of your time this evening.”

“I am glad I did. Thank you for the dance. I enjoyed it very much.”

His eyes lit up. “It was entirely my pleasure, Princess.”

She could not restrain her giggle when he placed a hand over his heart and bowed. She returned the courtly gesture with a small curtsy, acknowledging him with a quiet “ _Prince Lotor_ ” that earned a huff of amusement as he shook his head to hide his grin.

Lotor glanced toward her table, nodded to acknowledge Shiro, and then turned to leave after sparing her one last solemn smile. She sighed as she watched him walk away, hating how it only made the ache in her chest grow. She wished that she could believe him without reservation, could allow them a chance to return to simpler times and the friendship they once had. But they both had to keep moving forward, navigating the world as it was, in all its cruelty, while perhaps stealing whatever moments they could to pretend everything was different, that the gaping rift between their families did not exist.

“Allura,” Shiro whispered in her ear with a soft touch to her shoulder, drawing her from wistful musing. He looked at her with kind eyes and a smile filled with sympathy. “You okay?”

“I am fine, Shiro,” she said, allowing him to lead her to the table. He pulled out her chair, and she fell into it, heaving another long sigh as she tried to force the weight of her conversation with Lotor from her heart.

“Do I need to cause a distraction?” Shiro asked as he sat beside her.

She arched her brow at him. “A distraction? Whatever for?”

He chuckled. “I don’t know. You two didn’t seem too happy about parting ways again, thought you might want a chance to sneak away.”

She gasped at what he insinuated and glared. “Absolutely not. Oh, heavens, the rumors that would start.”

“You’re only worried about the rumors?” Shiro chuckled. “So, if there was no risk of gossip spreading, you would be fine with it?”

Her jaw slackened. “No, of course not. I…” She buried the urge to growl in frustration and glanced toward Lotor who had reached his table. He appeared frustrated with whatever his assistants were saying to him, and when he glanced toward her, she wondered if he was stuck in a similar conversation. She snapped her gaze from him and glared at Shiro’s knowing grin. “ _No_ ,” she answered firmly.

He shrugged, his amusement hardly fading. “Just let me know if you change your mind.” He glanced around the room, grimaced, and turned back to her with a far more sober expression. “Though, you have a point about giving the rumor-mill more fodder than they already have. People were watching and whispering the whole time you two danced. And I now know for a fact that Thatcher fan’s wife has loose lips. She came over to chat about you two before telling me who in this room is having an affair, or is on their third spouse, or has some secret love child in the States. Oh, and she was sure to point out everyone she suspects to be gay along with who she knows has a gay son or nephew or cousin. Offered to put in a good word for me, too.” He rolled his eyes. “If she’s friendly with your father, she’ll definitely mention something to him about tonight.”

Allura sagged forward. “Lovely. I am going to have to explain this before she gets to him.”

Shiro consoled her with a pat on the back. “I’ll be right there with you, Allura. I doubt he’ll make a big deal out of it, but I’ll let him know that you were just being polite.”

“Thank you, Shiro.” She struggled to smile. “Next time we attend one of these, I will do a better job protecting you from the loons.”

He snorted. “I’d appreciate that.”

She could not help but glance toward Lotor’s table one last time. He sat staring at a phone, his fingers pinched to the bridge of his nose while his assistants watched him with matching grins. Whatever was going on, he did not seem the least amused by it.

She felt Shiro lean toward her, his arm draped over the back of her chair. She could hear his teasing grin as he whispered, “Are you _sure_ you don’t want to go make out with him in the coat room?”

She rounded on him with a sharp hiss of his name and smacked his shoulder. He fell back in his seat, clutching his gut as he laughed while she fanned the heat in her cheeks.

“I take it back.” She huffed. “I will toss you to all the loons I know.”

* * *

 

For the first time in a long time, Lotor was grateful for the militaristic conditioning he was subjected to throughout his life. Without that lesson of refined control, he feared he would be a trembling, jittery mess of emotion after dancing with Allura.

He was excited, happy that she not only entertained his request out of some sense of polite decorum, but even enjoyed the time spent with him so much that she did not wish to cut it short no matter the excuses she had available. The end of their dance might have been soured, but he was still endlessly grateful for the fortune to come so far with her.

He could still feel the warmth of her hand in his, could remember the shiver that raced down his spine and threatened to derail all sense and reason when she grabbed his ear. It was innocent and playful, but so bold and somehow that one touch was enough to set him on fire. He felt his cheeks heat and prayed she did not notice his blush, or at least would be kind enough not to tease him for it.

She teased him, but at least it wasn’t about that, and he loved the ringing sound of her laughter too much to begrudge her for it.

And then there was her sweet, floral scent that still clung to him. Every time he took a breath, it filled his lungs and mind, left him to wonder what flower her perfume was meant to mimic. He doubted he would ever know. He could walk into a florist, sniff every bloom, and none would match her decadent aroma. All he knew was that it suited Allura perfectly – sweet and pure and warm. _So warm._

He could not even hold on to his anger at Ezor for so carelessly pushing Allura into him. A part of him was too grateful to feel her pressed close, to know the softness of her skin at the small of her back, to have the excuse of whispering in her ear as he breathed her in and reveled in her sheer existence. He still wished to wring Ezor’s neck and punish her for daring to lay such a forceful hand on Allura, but the outcome was good enough that he felt he could forgive the slight. She would be well warned against causing Allura harm ever again. Even if it was an accident, even if it was not her intent, he would not stand to see his assistants treat Allura with such flagrant disregard, not even under the guise of _helping him_.

His happiness outweighed his anger, pushed it down to be nothing more than a simmer of annoyance, easily forgotten as it mixed with the eager swirl of feeling in his gut that came with Allura’s proximity.

But then they had to go and speak of harsh truths, overshadowing everything with a dark, forlorn cloud of despair. He hated that his honesty hurt her, but she deserved the truth no matter how difficult it may be to swallow. It stung to see her doubt his intentions. He understood, though.

What hurt most was the sadness in her eyes. It was so plain to him that she wanted the same things that he did, that she wanted to see their parents’ feud put to rest. Even if their fathers could not come to terms with their anger and resentment, at least they could close the divide for themselves. It was not fair that they were expected to hate each other merely because of their fathers’ hatred, it was not fair that they could not live as they wish to because of constant fear and suspicion of people they once cared for.

He was happy and angry and hurt all at once. He wished it could be easier, but nothing worth having ever came easily – certainly not for him.

He forced himself to focus on his annoyance when he reached his table and found his dates wearing identical grins, complete with wicked glints in both their eyes. He curled a lip and snarled, “Do not ever push, or otherwise harm Allura again.”

Ezor straightened with a quiet _eep_ at his surly tone. Zethrid’s grin washed away, replaced with a hard glare.

“We hardly did anything that could hurt her, Boss,” Zethrid growled back.

“She could have twisted her ankle,” he pointed out as he took his seat.

Zethrid rolled her eyes. “Didn’t even come close to pushing her that hard. You’re just looking for an excuse to be angry about it, when we both know you were more than happy to catch her in your arms.”

“That is beside the point,” he muttered.

Ezor relaxed at his subtle admission, and Zethrid snorted.

“She looked happy to have you catch her, too,” Ezor said, grin once more plastered on her face as she leaned toward him. “Very, _very_ happy.”

He glanced toward Allura’s table and caught her gaze before she tore it away. He thought her cheeks seemed a bit red as she glared at her date. Shiro didn’t appear fazed by her annoyance, took it all in stride. Was he teasing her, too?

“I am sure you are mistaken,” he forced himself to say as he turned to glower at Ezor. “She seemed more caught off guard than elated.”

She said she wanted to dance with him, said that she had enjoyed it, and as far as he could tell, she meant what she said, but that does not mean she felt the same sort of pleasure he did as he held her in his arms.

The girls shared a look and another eye-roll between them.

“I know what a girl looks like when she wants dirty things done to her,” Zethrid said with all her frank and shameless attitude. “And that girl wants you to do _very_ dirty things to her.”

It was his turn to roll his eyes.

“Don’t even say I’m mistaken,” Zethrid interrupted before he could say just that. She pointed at Ezor. “I _definitely_ know what I’m talking about.”

He ground his teeth and denied what they insinuated… And what they blatantly proclaimed, too.

“She admitted that she might have had more to drink tonight than she thought,” he said. “ _If_ she wore such a…” He swallowed and shut his eyes, and then immediately regretted it as he was greeted with Allura’s shining eyes and flushed cheeks and the memory of her so temptingly close. “If she wore such a lustful expression,” he said as he opened his eyes to glare, “it was likely aided by alcohol and therefore not to be taken seriously.”

“He’s so in denial,” Ezor whispered to Zethrid. “He just refuses to see it.”

“There is nothing to see.”

“There’s plenty to see,” Zethrid said with a laugh. “If you don’t believe us, I’d be more than happy to have a go at someone in here, cause a big scene, and you can whisk your pretty little princess off to snog in the coat room.”

“You will do no such thing,” he ordered.

Zethrid shrugged. “All right. We can follow her to the loo and nab her there for you.”

“We are not _kidnapping_ Allura Altea.”

“I didn’t say anything about kidnapping,” Zethrid said, sighing in exasperation. “You just meet us in the coat room –”

“Will you stop trying to lock us in the coat room together,” he snapped.

“Fine, then take her back to your place if you want more privacy,” Zethrid amended. She pursed her lips in thought and then nodded to herself. “Actually, that sounds like a better plan. She strikes me as the sort to be a bit wild in the sack, bit of a screamer.”

He buried his face in his hands and groaned. “Oh, will you just shut up, already.”

“I will if you at least admit you have a crush on her,” Zethrid agreed.

He pulled his hands away to glare at their expectant looks. They would not drop it until he gave them what they deemed an honest answer. They would continue to nag him about it throughout the weekend, text him night and day, and then come Monday, they’ll greet him at the office with yet more pestering. The only way to know peace was to confess.

“Perhaps I find her attractive,” he bit out grudgingly. “She is an intelligent and beautiful woman. It is only natural. That does not mean I wish to engage in anything beyond a friendship with her, and even if I had such a desire, that choice and decision is as much hers as it is mine, and she is hesitant enough in considering my friendship that anything else would be difficult, if even possible, to entertain.”

“I think that’s the closest thing to the truth we’re going to get from him tonight,” Ezor said. “But seriously, your sweet, pure princess wants to fuck you in every possible way.”

He shut his eyes and took a deep breath as his hand curled into a fist. He could not lose his temper there. He had more control than to let his assistant prick his anger by embarrassing him. He could endure their vulgar taunts. He would not falter.

“I should have brought Dayak,” he muttered after releasing his breath and forcing himself to relax.

Zethrid’s guffaw brought the tension right back.

“Oh, no, she would have been worse,” Ezor said, tittering with laughter.

“Maybe not as blunt,” Zethrid pointed out.

“Maybe, but she would have found a way to get them alone in a locked room together.”

“Dayak would do no such thing,” he huffed.

Their brows raised, silently saying _‘Wanna bet?’_

He sighed. “What did she say?”

“We’ve been giving her the play-by-play all night,” Zethrid said as Ezor pulled out her mobile. “She insisted on regular updates.”

Ezor held over the phone to show him the group chat they had open. Acxa and Narti were included, but it was Dayak’s comments that made him pinch the bridge of his nose to hold off another headache.

There was the expected cooing and jests when Zethrid informed the others that he _froze_ when he saw Allura – an observation he disagreed with but had already given up arguing over. As he scrolled, he found picture after picture of Allura, followed by more cooing.

 _‘She is still his princess,’_ Dayak commented. _‘As lovely as ever. Who is that gentleman she is with?’_

The conversation turned to Shiro, replete with reassurances that he was not a _threat_ to Lotor – as if it mattered.

_‘Well, no matter. My Lotor is a charming prince. A true match. Any partner she may have will stand no chance against him.’_

He groaned as he realized Dayak had just as much interest in his personal love-life, as nonexistent as it was, as his prying assistants. She began to berate and pester Ezor and Zethrid to do _something_ to get him to spend more time with Allura – their earlier conversation had not counted.

 _‘Has he asked her to dance yet?’_ Dayak asked when Ezor mentioned that dinner had been cleared.

 _‘Not yet. He’s smoozing with a trustee from Arus,’_  Ezor informed.

He would have thought Dayak would understand that priority, that she would relent to his business interests being of greater value, or at least something he needed to capitalize on as soon as the guests had warmed up enough to speak with him over more than the usual pleasantries and stilted conversation on the weather. To his great surprise, she just wanted him to dance with Allura.

_‘Get them to dance. They need to dance.’_

_‘Give him some time,’_ Ezor insisted.

 _‘She might not want to dance,’_ Zethrid added. _‘She’s refused everyone who’s approached her.’_

_‘That is because Lotor is in the room and she must want to dance with him - and only him. How rude of him to leave her wanting.’_

He took another deep breath to calm himself.

Dayak continued to complain until Ezor finally announced that Allura accepted a dance. He could imagine his governess preening in her response to that, the very picture of pride.

_‘See? I told you she would accept a dance from him. No one would refuse my Lotor, least of all her. Now then – PICTURES. NOW.’_

He sighed as he scrolled his way through one candid shot after another. “Perhaps you should find new employment with one of the gossip rags,” he idly commented. “You take such stunning photos without my consent. A true paparazzi.”

“Don’t worry, Boss, we already threatened the official photographers to ignore you two,” Zethrid said. “Took a little convincing.” She balled up a fist and grinned. “But they all saw reason without any bloodshed.”

He released another long, suffering sigh. “Thank you, Zethrid.”

 _‘They need to be closer,’_ Dayak had commented once he reached the end of the photographs. _‘His stance is proper and courtly, yes, but it will not do. I need new prodigy to raise, and if he continues to tip-toe around her, I may not live long enough to see it.’_

He had to set down the phone and bury his face in his hands. He ignored the girls as they laughed.

“Dayak wants grandbabies,” Zethrid teased.

“She wants you to have them with Allura,” Ezor sang.

His face felt like it was on fire and he was starting to regret bringing the girls at all. He should have come alone. He never needed dates at these events to begin with. He only brought them as a courtesy to their efforts in attaining Allura’s forgiveness, and perhaps had hoped they would provide some company should the event prove a disaster. He could not even trust Acxa to be at his side without gossiping about the evening with the others – she cooed along with the rest of them over every photo sent. She would have spent the whole evening texting updates to the others, though at least she would not tease him.

He hoped she would not tease him, but she surprised him sometimes.

“So, it was her idea to push us closer – _literally_ ,” he said once he thought his expression was schooled to indifference.

“Yep,” Ezor said before gesturing to her mobile. “There’s more. There’s more. We got some great pictures after that.”

He grudgingly returned to their conversation, his interest piqued when he found the next set of pictures. How Ezor managed to get these without him noticing, he would never know.

She got one with Allura still pressed close to him, her eyes wide with surprise as he assessed her for any sign of injury. There was another picture of them smiling at each other, far closer than he thought they had been – it would have taken him no effort to lean down, close that gap, and –

 _No._ No, he would not think of that. His interest in her would remain strictly platonic, he could not sully it further by pursuing any attraction he felt. She was wary to give him trust in a friendship, any desire for more would alarm her.

But the pictures made something in his chest feel lighter, and his pulse quickened at the mere memory of how she felt in his arms. Everything had felt so right in that moment that he dreaded the thought she might wish to end it before he was ready to let her go.

Her smile was sweet and endearing. Her eyes shined with happiness. There was no feud, no hatred, no mistrust. Just two old friends, reliving the fantasy and fairy tales they loved in their youth. A prince, and a princess…

“I think he’s short-circuiting,” he heard Ezor whisper, but he ignored her as he glanced at Allura from the corner of his eye.

Her attention was on the stocky Arus chairman on stage, leaning heavily on a cane while a handler hovered nearby to help the elderly man should he need it. He was muttering platitudes and pleasantries, his voice so soft and raspy that the microphone barely caught most of his words.

Allura’s phone sat on the table in front of her. He wondered if she would appreciate some of Ezor’s photos as he had.

He pulled his mobile from the inner pocket of his coat and quickly sent a few of the pictures to himself before forwarding them on to Allura. The girls snickered beside him, but he turned to gaze directly at Allura, watching as he saw her phone light up. To his disappointment, she didn’t immediately notice the message, but her gaze eventually cast toward him. He waved his phone, gestured toward hers, and she perked up when she finally noticed the message.

He watched the confused knit of her brow smooth as happiness took her expression. She smiled wide and tilted her phone toward Shiro when he leaned in to see what had her attention. Shiro grinned across the room, held a thumb up, and then whispered something to Allura that earned a gentle swat and shove while her cheeks darkened with a blush.

He chuckled as she pursed her lips and curled over her phone, typing with all the frustration her date had caused her to feel.

 _‘Thank you for the lovely photos,’_ her text read to him.

 _‘Ezor seems to have found a new hobby,’_ he texted back.

He watched her smile as she typed. _‘She has an eye for it. Thank her for me, will you?’_

He angled his phone to show Ezor the message. She bounced in her seat and grinned before leaning over to cup a hand over his ear.

“Tell her she can thank us with some of her mom’s cookies,” she whispered to him.

He sighed at the demand but felt it would do no harm to pass along. The hurt in Allura’s expression was gone, a few jests may further smooth those feelings out.

_‘Ezor has requested some of your mother’s biscuits if you are feeling so grateful. She did fill her roll with pictures of you and I all evening, after all.’_

Allura sent a withering look his way, but he could see a smile in the purse of her lips. She turned back to her phone and a moment later he had her response.

_‘I will consider it, but I want to see the other photos first.’_

He happily sent along a few of his favorites – pictures of her laughing, grinning, speaking excitedly with one guest after another, all showing her to be the brightest light in the room. He sent a few of her with Shiro, as well, knowing she might appreciate them.

 _‘I suddenly feel very spied upon,’_ she texted, but a quick glance showed him that she was happy with them.

 _‘I can sympathize,_ ’ he responded.

 _‘But they are lovely,’_ she added. _‘What sort of biscuits do they prefer?’_

He grinned as he typed, _‘I am quite partial to strawberry.’_

He watched Allura roll her head back in exasperation and shoot him another glare that he knew was only meant to hide her amusement.

 _‘I am aware,’_ she texted back.

 _‘I do not believe the girls are particular. Though, nothing with walnuts for Zethrid. She dislikes those.’_ The gavel announcing the official start of the auction came down as he typed. _‘You can discuss it with them after.’_

Allura nodded to him in response, setting her phone aside to focus on the auction.

There were twelve donations up for bid, and at least one he was certain had caught Allura’s interest. Most of the items were the generic sort of donations – tickets to the opera, two sets to the theater, another set to the symphony. There was a football signed by the Hotspurs he knew his father would desire, but he already had three on display in his office and could easily acquire another without spending a single penny for it.

It was the artwork and pottery that he suspected would draw Allura’s attention. None were particularly classics, but they were originals, and one was a magnificent piece by a West Bengali artist from the region her father’s family originated in generations ago.

 _The Sages_.

The piece called to his heart, it was so stunning. Two meters in length, it depicted a brilliant, mystical landscape of modern design. Pink, purple, and blue flowed with distant white temples painted in a more abstract manner. The ancient Hindu sages were dotted along the landscape, perched on blue rocks, knelt at violet rivers, praying within fields of red grass and lilac flowers. Their traditional design contrasted to the modern background and vibrant colors, while blending old and new.

He was sorely tempted to commission the artist for a piece. Perhaps he would have Acxa make a few calls on Monday to see if they were interested in the work.

But for now, he was going to do something that would annoy the hell out of Allura. Just a little slight, petty revenge for being hung up on so rudely. And he did promise to piss her off again eventually, if only to see that spark of temper, that fire in her eyes, that passion and vigor as she stood against him.

 _I wonder if her father ever got her to try fencing?_ he thought to himself. _She would make for a challenging and ferocious opponent._

He brushed away the idle thought as he watched the auction. He shocked the other guests when he bid on the tickets for the symphony, garnering more whispers to rise around him. He ignored them and continued his bidding until he secured that entry. They would be a gift to Dayak for her information, though his was loath to give them after learning of her true intentions.

The painting was brought out as the tenth entry. Allura straightened in her chair, signaling to him that his suspicion was correct. She wanted that painting. More than anything else in the auction. She had not shown such excitement and eagerness while bidding on other entries. She looked bored much of the time, though she feigned some measure of excitement when she won the theater tickets.

“We will start the bidding at one-thousand pounds,” the auctioneer announced, and sure enough, Allura’s placard flew up to make the first bid.

He bit the inside of his lip to restrain his grin as he waited for another guest to make their meager bid of fifteen-hundred before raising his placard.

“Two-thousand to Mr. Daibazaal,” the auctioneer announced with an air of anxiousness in his voice, directing Allura’s head to snap around and stare at with unbridled shock.

“What are you doing, Lotor?” Ezor hissed beside him.

“Having a little fun,” he responded as he allowed himself to grin at Allura.

He saw the flash of realization, the spark of anger, just before Allura spun around and raised her placard high.

“Three-thousand,” she called out, her tone clipped with her annoyance.

He didn’t wait for anyone else to move in on his prey and quickly made his next bid of four-thousand, earning a glance of pure ire from Allura as she countered his bid, raising it five. If anyone else had thought to bid on the piece, the look in Allura’s eye was enough to dissuade them, and if that was not enough, the crackling tension building in the room as he stared her down and made his next bid would.

By the time they reached ten-thousand pounds, Allura was absolutely furious, but appeared to be at her limit. He could see her unease in the way she tapped her fingers on the table and shifted in her seat, the way she nibbled her lower lip and glanced to Shiro as though seeking help. He was surprised that she might have a limit at all. He presumed her father was footing the bill for anything she wished to buy, and as far as he knew, Alfor would spare no expense to make his daughter happy.

She made her next bid, keeping to the thousand-pound increments they had silently agreed upon in their battle. She didn’t appear happy about it in the least, which meant she was pushing her limits at this point. He decided to put her out of her misery.

And likely earn her righteous fury for it.

“Twenty-thousand pounds,” he announced.

Everyone in the room gasped while Allura’s shoulders slumped in obvious defeat.

Ezor leaned toward him and hissed, “She is going to kill you.”

“Do not worry,” he whispered back even as he watched Allura’s pitiful attempt at a glare. “I have a plan to keep my head on my shoulders after this.”

“You better. I want those cookies.”

He snorted and picked up his phone as soon as Allura declined to counter his bid. He just could not help himself. He had to tease her a bit.

 _‘Good show,’_ he texted.

The moment she saw the text, her head whipped around, and he swore her gaze could set the room on fire. He was not surprised when her response was a single emoji to express her ire.

 _‘Such a rude gesture from a refined lady,’_ he teased.

 _‘Piss off. I’m mad at you now,’_ she texted back, replete with two more middle finger emojis.

_‘I apologize for upsetting you again.’_

_‘You can shove that empty apology up your arse, Lotor.’_

_‘Please forgive me, Princess,’_ he responded, adding a purple heart to the message for good measure.

He watched her nose scrunch as she read his message. Her grip tightened on her phone. He waited, curious what she would say to that, but was disappointed when she set her phone aside, folded her hands on the table, and set her whole attention on the auctioneer as the eleventh entry was wheeled out.

Sighing, he relented to the cold shoulder she gave him and focused on the auction. There was one more piece he suspected she would desire, and he would use it to regain her attention.

The twelfth and final piece was a porcelain figure of Narasimha, the lion-headed avatar of Vishnu. The artist who crafted it left most of the figure white, but the glaze over the figure’s carved clothing and regalia held a shimmer of color – soft blues and yellows, a touch of gold. It was simple and elegant, nothing ostentatious.

And of course, Allura wanted it, but this time she did not show how eager she was to obtain it. She did not straighten her back; she perched her chin in the palm of her hand in a manner that denoted boredom, and waited until three others bid before raising her placard. She did glance his way as she lowered her arm, narrowed her eyes as if she were daring him to counter her.

He told himself it would be rude to ignore the challenge.

There were two others bidding on the entry, but Lotor ignored them as the price rose to seven-thousand and Allura did not appear willing to back down in the least. Since he won the painting, likely the largest portion of her budget for the evening, she had more leeway in how much she spent on the figure. By the time they reached twelve-thousand, the other bidders had abandoned the entry and he had Allura’s full attention once more.

“Thirteen to Mr. Daibazaal,” the auctioneer announced.

Allura lifted her placard with one hand, while rapidly typing into her phone.

“Fourteen to Ms. Altea.”

 _‘Back off, Lotor,’_ Allura’s message to him read.

He raised his placard and sent a single emoji in response – a grinning devil.

“Fifteen-thousand.”

 _‘What will it take to get you to back down?’_ she asked.

“Sixteen.”

He did not respond to the bribe, save for repeating the emoji response, though he was sorely tempted to take advantage of it. He still wished to have lunch with her, speak with her in a neutral setting, but he also wanted to toy with her. She made it far too entertaining.

“Seventeen.”

His phone lit up once more, this time with a call from his lovely rival across the room.

“Eighteen-thousand pounds to Ms. Altea.”

“This is very discourteous of you, Princess,” he said in lieu of a greeting as he raised his placard again.

“Nineteen to Mr. Daibazaal.”

“Back off, Lotor. I’m serious. Do not play this game with me,” she growled into the line.

The anger in her tone sent an odd shiver down his spine. “I have no idea what you are talking about, my dear. I am merely bidding on a beautiful statue.”

“You are trying to piss me off.”

 _And succeeding at it, too,_ he thought to himself.

“Wipe that smirk off you face,” she snapped at him. “I swear, you are acting like a five-year-old.”

“And you are acting like a spoiled princess, sending lewd gestures at me when you do not get your way,” he pointed out. “If I didn’t know better, I might think –”

“Do not finish that sentence,” she hissed over the line, her cheeks aflame with a blush. “We were having such a lovely time dancing, too,” she muttered to herself.

“We were, but _now_ we are playing a game, and it is not in me to lose at anything.”

“Even a charity auction?”

“Absolutely not. I want to buy the statue, and so I will.”

“Twenty-seven-thousand pounds to Mr. Daibazaal,” the auctioneer announced, their tone uncertain as they glanced between the two heirs.

Allura clenched her teeth, glared at him as she raised her placard.

“Twenty-eight to…”

“It’s still pierced,” he heard over the line, drowning out the auctioneer and freezing his arm in place just as he began to raise it to counter her again.

He choked in surprise and gaped at her. “I’m sorry? I don’t think I quite heard that.”

“My navel. You wanted to know if it was still pierced. _It is_.”

All thoughts in his head ceased to be as his eyes glanced down of their own volition, searching for some sign of jewelry beneath her dress – a bump, a ridge, _anything_ he could make out from a distance. Of course, the dress was too thick and decorated to see anything, but still he searched and felt his mind fall into a dizzying array of imaginations.

“A sparkling blue mouse, with a yellow jewel for a piece of cheese,” she said.

His arm fell limp onto the table as he gaped at her. He was supposed to be doing something, but for the life of him he could not remember what.

“And entry number twelve goes to Ms. Altea for twenty-eight thousand pounds,” the auctioneer called out.

Allura’s victorious cheer snapped him from his daze.

“Oh, you devious little tart,” he said without any heat in his words. He could not find it in him to begrudge her tactics, not when he was gifted with such secret knowledge. She grinned across the room in response, shameless in her delight. “Well played, Princess.”

“Yes, well played, my dragon nemesis.”

“Oh? I have been demoted to a dragon again?”

“You earned it, Lotor. If you wished to remain a prince, you should have let the princess win.”

“ _Never._ ”

She snickered. “Then, sadly, you are cursed once more.”

“A pity,” he said with a sigh. “May I speak with you after they are through with the closing formalities? Or are you still too cross with me?”

She pursed her lips and glared. “I suppose I could spare you a few minutes.”

She could not be _that_ angry with him if she was willing to speak civilly with him. He expected her to be unhappy with him, but he would not allow those negative sentiments to fester for long.

“Then I shall be over shortly,” he said, hanging up at her nod.

“Oh my god, you two just need to bone already,” Ezor said.

His jaw slackened at the crass remark. He should be used to them by now, but that was particularly blunt.

“I mean, you two are absolutely adorable,” Ezor rushed to add on.

“We ship it,” Zethrid chimed in.

“One hundred percent,” Ezor agreed.

“Whatever you need help with, we’re behind you, Boss.”

“Just… please, for the love of all that is holy in this world, ask her out on a date.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I thought we were done discussing this. Any attraction that exists cannot be –”

“Yeah, we were done with the subject, but that display just now…” Ezor waved toward Allura’s table. “That was something else.”

“Never knew a bidding war could serve as foreplay,” Zethrid remarked. “What’d she say to make you stop bidding? You looked like you short-circuited again for a bit.”

Because he had.

“That is not any of your concern,” he grumbled.

“He’s got it bad for her,” Zethrid decided.

“So bad,” Ezor agreed.

“Remnants of a childhood crush,” he argued.

“Nope, it’s definitely a very _adult_ crush now,” said Ezor.

“Doubt you were thinking of taking her into a closet to snog when you were kids,” said Zethrid.

“I wasn’t… I am not…” He growled at their matching grins. “I am not rising to your bait any further tonight. Think what you will.”

He ignored their snickering and whispered remarks as he listened to the evening’s host thank the guests for their generosity. There was a short presentation on the programs their contributions would go toward – nothing more than a five-minute power-point on tutoring programs, half-way houses, women’s shelters, and the like. Arus had a variety of projects they allocated their funds to, most of them local, though there were a few overseas within English colonies.

Once the closing presentation was finished, Lotor quickly got up to make his way across to Allura’s table. An attendant for the auction sat with her, filling out the forms for the items Allura had won.

“We will contact Mr. Altea for payment on Monday, then,” he heard the attendant say as they stood.

“Thank you,” Allura said just as she noticed him approaching. The polite smile she wore vanished into a glare and she pushed from the table to greet him.

“Oh, Mr. Daibazaal,” the attendant spoke up before Allura could. “Shall we get your information and payment –”

“See to the other bidders first,” he interrupted. “I wish to speak with Ms. Altea for a moment.”

“Of course,” the attendant stammered.

A touch at his elbow drew his gaze to Ezor at his side. Her brow was cocked in confusion. “Did you want us to handle that?” she asked, pointing toward the attendant as they made their way to another guest.

“No, I will take care of it myself,” he assured.

Ezor shrugged but dropped the subject. At any other event, he would leave it to his assistants to arrange delivery and payment, but in this instance, he had a plan that they had not been informed of. Not yet, anyway.

“Allura,” he greeted.

“Lotor,” she grumbled.

“I do apologize –”

“You already apologized, and I distinctly told you what you can do with that,” she snapped.

He chuckled at the heat in her voice. “I know, but it does not hurt to apologize again.”

“I wanted that painting.”

“I could tell. It’s a beautiful piece. It reminds me of the stories your father would tell us when we children. Of the mystical lands of Oriande.”

Allura’s eyes turned somber, filled with genuine hurt, and for a moment he felt a pang of regret for not letting her win the piece. He would not allow her to feel hurt for long.

“I suppose I could commission the artist…” she mused.

“It is a thought. I had planned to contact them in the next few days myself.”

“One painting isn’t enough?” she huffed.

“I did not buy the painting for myself, so _no_ , it is not.”

“Oh… May I ask who you mean to give it to? Is it for your mother?”

“No,” he said, unable to restrain the annoyed growl in his voice at the prospect of gifting his mother with something so remarkable. Perhaps there was a time he might have considered it, a time when she would have genuinely appreciated the piece’s beauty, but not any longer. She would likely defile the art, and he would never permit such a travesty.

“Oh, of course not… I suppose… Then…” She cleared her throat and bit her lip. “It’s none of my business.”

He hummed as he forced down the urge to tell her the truth. “Forgive me, Allura?” he asked instead.

“I will consider it,” she said, and he knew she would forgive him. Even if she refused to at this moment, she would soften to his apology come Monday.

“That is all I ask,” he said as he held out a hand to her.

She glowered at his hand, but eventually slipped her hand into his. He couldn’t hold back the swell of excitement in his chest at the gentle touch, but he did his best not to give away how much he enjoyed the softness and warmth of her skin as he lifted her hand to his lips. He paused when he felt her hand twitch in his, a tension to her arm that had not been there before.

She had not shown discomfort when he kissed her hand earlier. She had been surprised, but otherwise appeared unperturbed. Had he misread her then? Or was she too cross with him to allow such a touch again?

“May I?” he asked quietly, his lips a hair’s breadth from the back of her fingers.

She pursed her lips, her fingers twitched again, and then she nodded. “Yes, you may.”

He smiled as he brushed his lips over her skin, drank in the heat and drowned in the sweet scent of her. His earlier gesture had been perfectly chaste, a polite brush and nothing more. This time he lingered, pressed more firmly, and shut his eyes to revel in the warmth that swirled through every part of his being.

He was attracted to her, that was no mystery, nothing he could rightly deny to himself even if he sought to deny it to others. He had no intention of pursuing it, though a part of him, deep within, told him to throw caution to the wind and do as Zethrid and Ezor suggested. But he knew better than to succumb to that voice, no matter how tempting it may be.

“Thank you, Allura,” he said as he grudgingly lowered her hand, “for a most enjoyable evening. I hope I can see you at more events in the future.”

“I… yes… I…,” she stammered. He expected her to pull her hand from his immediately, but she left it there as her eyes darted down to stare at their joined hands. When she finally pulled her hand from his, he noticed her cheeks had darkened with another blush. Even her ears were reddened at the tips. She swallowed hard and cleared her throat. “I hope for the same, though, perhaps with less competition.”

“Oh, but that was half the fun,” he teased, chuckling at how she glowered at him. He pressed a hand to his chest and bowed. “I should let you go. Others surely wish to speak with you one last time before you leave. We will speak again soon, I am sure.”

“Yes, thank you.” She gave him a meager curtsy in return. “Have a good evening, Lotor.”

“You, as well, Allura.” He turned to her date and held a hand out to him. “And it was a pleasure to meet you, Shiro.”

“Same to you,” Shiro said as he took his hand. “Maybe next time we can actually talk to each other.”

“Ah, yes, I suppose it was quite rude of me not to give you more of my attention,” he admitted, unable to stop himself from glancing toward Allura. She had already turned to speak with Ezor and Zethrid, his assistants animatedly describing what sort of treats they liked.

“Hey, I completely understand,” Shiro said with a firm shake of his hand. “You had your priorities, after all,” he added with a wink and tilt of his head toward Allura.

His cheeks warmed at the meaning behind the gesture. It was one thing for Ezor and Zethrid to notice and tease him for it, but was his attraction really so transparent that even Allura’s date saw it? He knew better than to let others on to his private thoughts.

“Next time, then,” Lotor said as he pulled away.

He waved at the attendant to signal he was ready to speak with them and headed toward another table to wait for them to finish with a guest. Ezor and Zethrid came in close, their heads cocked in silent question.

“So?” Ezor prompted when he said nothing.

“You have a plan, right?” Zethrid asked.

He grinned at them. “Of course, I have a plan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am hoping that my writing slump is near an end. My mental health has been fragile lately, to say the least, and admittedly, a lot of the salt and negativity kept me down (no matter how much I agree with it and feel it is 100% justified, I need to learn to divorce myself from it, take breaks from twitter, and take care of myself). But I'm working at it - hyperfocusing on other things has helped a bit - and I'm going to try to get back to a typical routine because Lotura needs all the fluff fics in the world.
> 
> Oh, and one more note about something I never brought up in this fic: While Alfor is Indian-British (specifically of West Bengali ancestry), Melenor is Black with her extended family predominantly from France, while she was raised in Manchester. She studied medicine in university with a focus on pharmacology, but also received a minor in art history and owns a small studio for local artists in Cambridge. I focus a lot on Allura's relationship with her father, but her mother's studies and career were also a huge inspiration for her. Melenor consistently takes Allura's side in most any conflict with Alfor (or Coran), because she will not put up with her husband's shit if she feels he's out of line. (I refuse to accept Alfor married some quiet, submissive woman who smiles in the background and is just used to show that Allura does have a mother... that looks eerily identical to her). I want to get into Melenor's influence on Allura in later chapters, but I don't know how much I will because most of my focus is on the Lotura relationship in general.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time posting a fic to ao3 (I'm used to ff.net because old habits die hard), so hopefully I don't screw this up.


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